Of Bootleggers and Mob Bosses
by MiniBlackRaven
Summary: Tony Stark and Steve Rogers think they have found the love of their life (or as close as you can get in the homophobic society of 1934 New York). Thing is, they don't know that one is a small time mob boss out for vengeance, and the other is a gang leader makin' profit off bathtub gin.
1. In the Breadline

**Note:** Let me start out by saying that I plan on finishing this. I only have 7 of the 12 planned chapters written (3 typed, 4 handwritten), but my goal is to start and finish this story by the end of the year. Updates will be twice a month around the first and third Friday/ Saturday. I am staring a new job in a different country, so please bear with me if I fall behind. I want to make sure I meet my goal and what I produce is good quality content.

Fair **warning** that there will be some **period specific homophobic language** due to the historical context, but I'm trying to keep it at a minimum. Please let me know if I need to give any other warnings about triggers and such.

Quick thanks to my beta kuailong.

* * *

"Hey, this the line for food?"

Steve inspected the stranger. Basic observations, nothing more. Average height for a male. Steady scruff of hair along the jawline (ruled out mafia. Mafia weren't allowed facial hair). A little shifty, but didn't look like the trouble makin' variety. Shifty like those who just came off the boat lookin' for a better lot in life.

"Yeah. Line starts behind me," he said.

The man whistled. "Damn, and I thought Boston was bad."

"Not from around here, I take it." It was more of a statement than a question. His knack for the language (or lack thereof) ruled out immigrant, and he definitely didn't sound like a local. Didn't have the same accent as the boys in Brooklyn. "Looking for work?" he asked. Guy wasn't dressed to impress, but even Steve could appreciate a fine looking fellow if given the space.

The suit he wore was nice. A gently worn tweed jacket and trousers hugged his body and kept out the occasional nip of spring air (and considering the times, it looked in good condition). A miss-matched cap hid what looked like a mess of dark curls and a brilliant pair of brown eyes.

The man shrugged, looking a little lost in the oversized coat (must belong to a neighbor). "Isn't everyone? I got a telegram last week saying my skills could be of use up here. Don't got nothing much better to do back home, so might as well take a chance."

Steve smiled. "Good to hear. Not much work for us advertisement artists, but I'll pray for you." Maybe he wasn't getting work for his art, but that didn't mean he couldn't hope for the prosperity of others.

The man raised a well-groomed eyebrow. "Religious?"

"Catholic," Steve replied with a cautious breath. "Irish Catholic." His eyes darted across the stranger's face, looking for some clue. The reaction Steve was used to was usually instantaneous. But so far, no sign of the usual disgust. "Do you-"

"Me? No," the man brushed off the comment like it was nothing. "Parents were Italian and Spanish. Hence the soft leather skin," he said with a mischievous eyebrow waggle that made Steve want to laugh. "You'll get none of that religious bigotry from me."

"Thanks," said Steve with a sigh of relief. "You don't know how many times that has caused a fist fight or two. Not easy to be an immigrant here."

"Or a child of an immigrant," the stranger said with a knowing look.

Steve nodded in agreement as wordless seconds of shared history passed between them. Things like that didn't need to be said. It was a common enough experience among first generation Americans. The bullying, prejudice, pain, and confusion was something they faced every day. To find someone else with a similar story in such a bustling city was always an unsaid comfort. To know you weren't alone, or going crazy, as faceless people went about their business was a reassurance.

"Where are my manners," Steve said, breaking the silence and offering a hand. "I'm Steve. Steve Rogers."

"Anthony," he said with a calloused grip of his hand. Working man then."But everyone calls me Tony."

Steve let out a quiet laugh. "Don't they understand the irony?"

Tony smiled, a dazzling bright smile that lit up his face. "I don't think they do."

"You should tell them," said Steve, relaxing against the red brick wall for the first time since he got in line. "To-ny. To NY (New York)." Immigration joke. It was low, but from the looks of it, the joke made Tony smile.

Tony shook his head, smile still on his face. "Nah. I already gave them ridiculous nicknames to get 'em back. Good pal of mine James Rhodes. Met him while I was at college, call him Rhodey. Hated when I first started calling him that, but it stuck. And I got this gal, Pepper, her first name is Virginia of all things. Why her parents name her that, I will never know. But, she's got the prettiest peppering of freckles over her face, couldn't help myself when I saw her. She hates it, good god she almost slapped me when I called her that for the first time. But what can I say, my charming personality wore her down."

Steve felt his heart sink a little, and he silently he berated himself. He was not feeling jealous of a guy he just met, he told his sinful heart. He was not! It wasn't possible and it was most definitely not appropriate. "Your friends are back in Boston or here in Brooklyn?"

"Here? Are you kidding me?" Tony scoffed. "There is no way they would have bad enough taste to live in a place like this. And even if they did, I would do everything in my power to make sure they didn't take up residence here. No, we have the good sense to take up residence on Manhattan until they find work. Nothing too fancy, mind you, but anything better than this dump."

Steve felt his heart being crushed. Better now than later. But it was his town. His baby Brooklyn that was being insulted. And by the look on Tony's face, he was beginning to realize what he had done. Bucky always did say when Steve got sad or confused he could easily mistaken for a kicked puppy.

"This dump that you clearly live in. God I'm an idiot! Don't listen to me. No, wait. Listen to me and slap me if I say something stupid like that again. Then again, don't because if that was true Pepper would have slapped me five ways 'till Sunday by now. God Tony, can you ramble more than you already do? I mean, I know I ramble when I'm working on stuff, or when I'm nervous, or when I'm drunk-"

"Tony," Steve said, trying to interrupt his line of thought.

"Can I say that? I mean, prohibition and all, but a guy's gotta find a way to kick back and relax, you know? And if you think I'm bad now, you don't want to even think about when I-"

"Tony!"

Steve could physically see Tony skid to a stop when he broke through Tony's train of thought. Was he shaking? God, what had Tony been through to react like this? It was only an apology for a silly little thing. Well, it wasn't silly to Steve, but that didn't matter at the moment. What mattered was Tony, and Tony was in pain right now.

In his gut, Steve wanted to reach out and reassure Tony that everything was okay. He had just met the guy, but he wanted to touch him and take some of the pain away. Any part of it. Even the smallest bit would help. A juvenile part of him wished could kiss it and that would make it all better.

But that was impossible.

Instead he gave Tony a smile. A easy, but heartfelt smile that said, 'I'm sorry. I'm here if you need me.' But he couldn't say that outloud. That wasn't right. Instead Steve said, "It's fine. Everyone is entitled to their own opinions."

Those few words made the shaking stop. Tony's face brightened a little at the gesture, and it made Steve's heart hurt more. Just a few words made all the difference? What the hell? What type of people had he been spending time with? He wanted to do more to help Tony. Could he do more? Didn't matter. He would do more.

Steve loosened his shoulders, trying to make as light of the situation as he could. "Just don't knock me for saying the Brooklyn Dodgers are leagues better than the New York Yankees," he said with a carefree grin.

Tony's mouth dropped. "You didn't." The smug shit eating grin on Steve's face grew in tandem with Tony's smile. "You fight dirty Rogers. Saying something like that on your home turf. You know I can't say anything against you if I don't want to start a riot."

"I have no idea what you mean mister," said the towering giant of a man, with the largest most innocent looking baby blue eyes Steve could muster without looking like a fag.

Tony smiled. A real big Cheshire cat smile that wrinkled around his eyes like soft cloth. "You're evil Rogers."

"And you're short," said Steve, returning the smile tenfold.

By the time the two got to the front of the breadline, they were talking as if they were long lost friends, reunited after years of separation. With a cold loaf of bread and a can of beans, it took a sharp glare of light from an alley to remind Steve that the world kept spinning despite his newfound friendship with Tony.

"Meeting someone?" asked Tony.

Steve cursed silently. Damn, Tony was sharp. "Yeah, just a friend," he said casually.

It took a few seconds before Steve realized that he was feeling a slight heaviness in his lungs. His feet felt heavy too, and the only thing he could do to ease the feeling was to shuffle them back and forth across the cobbled street. He didn't want to go. He wanted to stay. Here. He wanted to say something, anything to ease the drawn out silence, but finding one good thing out of the million of inappropriate thoughts was impossible. "That was nice," he finally said.

"Yeah."

Steve mentally slapped himself for sounding like an idiot. "Will I see you again sometime?"

"Maybe," replied Tony with a shrug. "Not to dismiss Brooklyn's hospitality, but it takes too long to get here."

"Yeah, I don't blame you," Steve said with a heavy sigh, trying his hardest to hide his disappointment.

The awkward silence was back in full force. Steve racked his brain for something to say. Something that wouldn't come off as too forward or too distant. But as soon as he came up with something that would be a suitable middle ground, Tony muttered a "bye" and began to walk off, away from Steve.

Steve opened and closed his mouth like a goldfish. The words wanted to come out, but his mind held him back like a chain. Tony was almost a block way before Steve yelled out what he struggled to say for what felt like an eternity.

"Tuesdays," he called. Steve's hands began to sweat when Tony stopped but didn't turn around. "I'm usually here on Tuesdays. Sometimes on Thursdays," he called once more.

The world froze for a second as Steve waited, neither of them moving. It felt like the ground would fall out from under him any minute. Steve's body trembled, Did he say too much? Was he too forward? God, why hadn't he agreed to let Bucky set him up?

But when Tony turned around and tipped his cap to Steve. That rush of heat to his chest suddenly made it all worth it.

"Tuesdays," Tony said with that dashing smile. "I'll remember that."

Steve watched with a smile as long as he could. He waited a few seconds after Tony rounded a corner before returning to the light from the alley.

"Really Bucky? Was that necessary?" asked Steve as he passed his best friend and right hand man hidden between the tight of the brick walls.

"Don't blame me." Bucky said flippantly. "If it was a dame, I'd be one thing. Assuming you were trying for the thing. But a guy? What were you thinking?"

"Just making conversation," said Steve with a shrug. He tried to convince himself that he hadn't been eying Tonly more than strictly necessary as they parted ways.

"In the breadline?" asked Bucky, taking the lead.

"Gotta' do something to keep me occupied," Steve said as he followed Bucky back to base.

"As opposed to what? Thinking of ways to keep punks like Schmidt off our turf?"

Steve rolled his eyes. "Can't be a brilliant tactician if all I think about is work. Gotta keep a clear mind, keep my options open."

"Not doubting that," replied Bucky in a low tone that suggested more than he said.

"Bucky!"

"What?"

"It's not like that."

Bucky whirled around, clearly livid with Steve's denial. "I did not just hear you say that after you were clearing giving that guy the eye."

"Bucky."

"Look Steve. I don't care. I really don't. Maybe I don't know how you contracted the sickness, and maybe there is no cure. I don't care. It doesn't really change who you are or who you have been after all these years. And if I was going to catch it, you or Wilson would have given it to me by now. But Steve, you can't. You just can't. And not just because he's a guy, no matter how screwed up I think that is. You gotta' think about the family Steve. You gotta' think of them. We've got territory to protect, people to feed. Maybe if he lived in the area, but he doesn't. Besides, he looks like a normal guy. He wouldn't understand either parts of you."

Steve gave a forlorn look at the can, heavy in his hand, rotating it around with his thumb as if the answer was written on the simple label. His chest ached as he gave out a longing sigh. "He said there was a gal. Pepper. That's what he called her."

Bucky swung a comforting arm around his shoulders. "See? Guys like that only lead to heartache."

Steve nuzzled into Bucky neck, his natural sweaty sent wrapped around Steve like a familiar blanket. It reminded him of all those nights' years ago, when he was a skinny little thing, huddled up against Bucky for warmth against the cold winter nights. God he hated his weakness. "I hate it when you make sense," Steve mumbled.

"Someone's gotta' when you're jumping off a plane without a chute," murmured Bucky.

Steve could only smirk. "Punk"

"Jerk," replied Bucky knocking their heads together. "Now, what's say we get this food to people who need it before the bread gets any staler. Or, we can find some Hydra scum to knock around. You always feel better after that."

Steve looked up with those irresistible baby blues with an innocent face he swore was not intentional.

"Why not both?"

* * *

Around the corner from where Tony and Steve separated, sat a fancy black limousine for two. A stout man with a black cap sat up front and barely moved as Tony approached the car.

"How was Brooklyn?" asked Happy as Tony pulled the car door shut.

"Terrible," muttered Tony, quickly shucking the cap to the empty seat by his side. "But if someone asks me to pick one good thing about this stink hole, it wouldn't be too hard."

"Find something you like boss?"

Tony smiled, silently remembering how gorgeous Steve's smile was and how good it made him feel just to hear the guy laugh. His muscles hidden underneath heavily worn clothes were drool worthy, and his stature was so very climbable. Steve's accent. Steve's voice. Guy could be a model or a radio personality if he wasn't so set on being on the other side of the paper. It all made his heart beat just a few seconds faster than normal.

Steve Rogers of Brooklyn. Goddamn. Someone did a good job.

"Or someone," Tony said with an appreciative smirk.

With an understanding nod, Happy started the car and pulled out from the curb. "Where to boss?"

"Home," replied Tony, breathing in the rich smell of leather. He reached for the change of clothes Pepper had prepared for him earlier that day. A charcoal grey suit and red silk tie. Perfect for taking over the world. "And schedule time to come back next Tuesday. We've got a lot to do if we want to make the territory ours."

"Stark Industries or the Iron Family?"

Tony smiled at the passing scenery as he slipped out of the poor man persona and slipped back into Tony Stark: billionaire, playboy, philanthropist, and small time boss.

"Why not both?"

* * *

Feedback is good. Yes, I am writing this for myself, but it's always nice to know that someone else enjoyed my work.

There will be no update next week because I'm going to visit family for Golden Week. (Guess which country I'm in.)

Follow me on my tumbler (miniblackraven) and see all the shit I reblog. Also find this same story and more on AO3 under the name miniraven.


	2. Back to Business: Tony

**Note:** Normally I'd wait another 12 hours before posting this chapter, but I'm having one of "those" kind of days. Enjoy the (for me) unusually long chapter. Don't get used to it. Next week is much shorter.

* * *

"Tony my boy, how have you been?" Obadiah Stane greeted him with his usual gravitas.

"Miss me Obie?" asked Tony with his usual air of cocky snark.

"Like the plague," Stane replied with a smile and a familiar hug. "What have you been up to lately? I haven't heard so much as a peep out of you since you dropped out of MIT."

"Oh, you know, trying to keep busy. Find work. Chat up some dolls. Create weapons of mass destruction. Take over the world."

Stane laughed. "Always the joker, Tony. But we're glad to have you back. Stark Industries hasn't been the same since the crash. After your father-"

"Don't start." Tony's smile disappeared, leaving only a cold iron clad exterior. It was still too fresh. Too soon. Despite not having the loving relationship that the newspapers thought the Stark's had, Howard's death still hurt. Not in the way the newspapers talked about. But just as deep and just as dark, if not more so. Gone was the chance of redemption and approval. All that was left was a stone cold legacy built on money, bureaucracy, and the bodies of others. Tony took that name now when Stane asked him to come back to SI. He took that name, knowing what it meant and hating what it meant for him and his future.

Stane's eyes softened. "I miss him too," said Stane with a tired smile. He wrapped a reassuring arm around Tony's shoulders. "But you're here now. And having a Stark to continue the Stark name should be a boost for morale."

"And is that what you brought me back for?" Tony asked with an unnecessary bite. "To be a glorified show pony? A replacement for dad!" Part of him knew what he was saying wasn't true, but it still hurt to have those lies floating around in the back of head.

"Of course not, Tony. No one could even come close to replacing Howard," reassured Stane. "No, I brought you here to begin your own legacy. Perfect timing, if I do say so myself. Morale is low. The fall in stock hit us hard. Had to let go of a few thousand workers. But this is your chance to step out of your father's shadow and make a name for yourself. To do something. To make something only Tony could do. Not Howard. Make a name for yourself. Make the 'S'in SI stand for _Tony _Stark not _Howard _Stark."

Head still facing down, Tony looked up at Stane through desperate eyes. It had always been like this, as long as he had know Obie. Through the years of his childhood, through thick and thin, Obie had been the one good constant in his life. Helping him up to his potential. Being there when Howard never was. Advising him on what was best in life, but only if his ideas weren't stupid. Tony relied on him just as much as he relied on Pepper, but even Obi could come up with some very stupid ideas sometimes. "And what do you suggest I do?" he asked.

"Whatever you like," said Stane with a smile. "Although, the investors would always appreciate something that sells."

"They're always looking for something that sells," Tony scoffed. "That's what they do."

"Well can you blame them?" asked Stane. "With the stock as low as they are, they'll jump at anything that makes them money. And with the number of people unemployed, Tony, this is the time to make something big. Something that will blow their socks off."

Tony easily picked up on what Stane was implying. It wasn't that hard, all things considering. But just because he relied on Stane, it didn't make him into a 'yes man' to do Stane's bidding. "A weapon? Obie, we've been out of the Great War for more than ten years."

"And frankly we're due for another," insisted Stane. "Do you not see the revolution in Russia? The unrest and animosity between Germany, France, and England? I may not enjoy seeing the body count in the daily paper, but we are warmongers, Tony. And it's our duty as American citizens to supply our troops with what they need before they need it."

There it was again, just like good old dad, pulling out the nationalists card to make their job a little easier. Didn't matter that the Great War was behind them and world peace was on the horizon. There would always be an excuse to make and sell weapons. As long as the world spun and people fought, people would need weapons to fight for their right to survive. And as much as it pained him at this stage in his life, as much as he didn't want to do it (not now, not yet), it was what was required of him. It's what the company needed. And Tony was needed here. Well, that and the other reason. But Obie didn't need to know that.

"Don't worry," Tony said with reassuring smile. "I'll make you proud Obie."

"Counting on it."

"I'll need a place to work eventually," mused Tony as they boarded the elevator to the top floors of SI. "Some place to stretch my legs and keep all hours of the night. Would it bother you too much if I use your office? I remember loving the view as a kid."

Stane chuckled at the idea. "If I remember what you were like as a little brat, I think my office might be too small for you. But don't worry. It's all taken care of."

* * *

R&amp;D took up an entire floor of Stark Industries. As a child, Tony loved to spend his extra hours there marveling at the innovation that sprung from the floor of R&amp;D. So many lights flashing. So many things to go _boom_. So much mystery and potential. Just so much everything.

But as an adult, he hated it. Too much stupidity and not enough space to contain it all. Too many idiots with minds too small, and ambitions too big crammed together in one room. It made for too many cooks in the kitchen. Even standing outside the glass door, watching all the rats run around trying to get the cheese, made Tony's head hurt. A small part of him wanted to storm in and help the sad sods. The other part wanted to take a flamethrower to the place and torch the entire thing to the ground, workers and all. Thank god Obadiah had reserved half of the top floor just for him.

"We have all the newest toys, and some that haven't reached the market," said Stane, opening a large mahogany door to an even larger room. "If you need anything, just ask."

The room was phenomenal. Multiple workstation for various types of projects were scattered about the open floor. Red metal chests stood by each station like tin soldiers, most likely filled with odds and ends that would assist in projects related to whatever station they stood guard over. With a quick look, Tony could guess exactly what stations were designated for what part of his work. A station for welding. A station for drafting. A station for wood and metal prototypes. A station for testing said prototypes. A very large station dedicated just to ammunition. (Obie was being in no way subtly about the potential weapons contract.) A station dedicated to automotive parts. And small icebox and kitchen equipped with late night necessities such as a coffee maker and blender. Tony couldn't wait to fuck it all up.

"It's a little small, but it'll do for now," he said, taking in the place. Draping his jacket on the back of one of the many chairs in the room, Tony proceeded to make himself comfortable in his new workshop. "Need to move some of the toolboxes around for one. And I need my gramophone. My records too. Pepper will be the one handling the move. And anything else that I'd rather not deal with. Speaking of which, where is she?"

"Right where you need me Mr. Stark," said Pepper, as she disembarked from the elevator.

"Pepper!" Tony greeted her with a wide smile and a kiss on the cheek. "Love of my life. Please save me from the boring pleasantries that is meeting and greeting every soul in the company."

"Your secretary?" Stane's eyebrow was raised all the way up to his nonexistent hairline.

"My assistant,' replied Tony. "My paper pusher. My hands and legs when they aren't available because I'm busy being a genius. My 'get stuff done' lady when I'm too busy otherwise."

"So, your secretary?" Stane repeated.

God Tony hated that word. Pepper was so much more that that, not that he would ever say it aloud. "Yes?"

"What happened to Ms. Summers?"

"Engaged and therefore of no interest to me," he said, brushing her off like a piece of lint on his suit. "Besides, Pepper has been at my side for years. She knows all my little quirks."

"Like what you would like for lunch Mr. Stark?" she asked. Perfect save as always.

"Yes please!" Tony's face lit up as he pulled up a seat. "Talk deli to me Pep. What local New York specials are we getting today?"

Stane shook his head in disbelief. "Go ahead and get settled in Tony. I'll tell Ms. Summers when the board meeting is. They'll want to meet you eventually."

"And I told you, Miss Potts will be replacing Ms. Summers, so don't even bother."

"Goodbye Tony," Stane said, walking out in an amused huff.

As soon as the door closed behind Stane, Tony's posture shifted. He sat up straighter. And the playful glint in his eyes disappeared. He slicked back his hair with one hand before loosening his red tie. "Talk to me Pep. Any bugs in the system?"

"None so far, and Clint double checked the lab and your housing just in case."

"Well, wherever high loft apartment or luxury house Obie put me, I want to be out of there as soon as you can. Nothing against the guy, but he can't decorate and his choice of location sucks."

"Duly noted Mr. Stark. But it might take time to find housing that fits your requirements."

"With what we're doing, I'd rather do everything I can to keep Obie out of this. He's like a second father to me and he doesn't deserve to be on the other end of any fall out for the shit we're getting into. Do whatever you can to make sure he's not in the line of fire."

"Understood Mr. Stark."

Something was eating her, Tony could tell by the way her fingers fiddled with a misplaced pencil. After giving her a few seconds of unbearable silence, she finally broke.

"Are you sure this will work?" asked Pepper. "I haven't heard a single story of a well established family moving to a different city, let alone a different state, and reestablishing themselves successfully."

"Then we'll be the first," Tony stated, as if just saying it made it happen.

She had that look on her face again. The one that looked like all the energy had been drained from her body, and not in the _post sex_ type of way. "Tony-"

"Pepper, I'm not going back," he said putting his foot down. How many times did they have to have this conversation? "Blood for blood. That's how it works. You come after the boss of the Iron Family with his own weapon, don't expect to get away with it. What happened to me, with the shrapnel bomb, I'm damn lucky to still be walking around let alone be alive. Yinsen and Bruce patched me up, helped me recover enough to build the arc reactor, but there are people who weren't as lucky as me. I saw them Pep. I saw their pain. I watched them die and there was nothing I could do about it."

"I don't care about the business. We always have _Malibu_ to support us if things go south. Besides, this isn't about money. This is about revenge, pure and simple. We have an opportunity that not many other have. We can stop the weapons leak at the source. We can track down the bastards that order the hit on me, and we can end it before they try again. That's it. That's the mission. Stop the leak before someone else gets hurt. What we make is for the battlefield. Nowhere else. I don't know if you realize, but my name is on the line. And I'll be damned it I let someone ruin it while I stand by the sidelines twiddling my thumbs like some idiot. We stop it here and now, and make damn sure that it doesn't happen again. Do I make myself clear?"

She looked up into his eyes, her piercing gaze dissecting his soul. They had moved so close during his rant. He could feel her shallow, even breath on his face. He could see the light peppering of freckles on her face. The flecks of color in her eyes. He wanted to reach out and touch. He wanted to tell her how beautiful she was. "You're an idiot and this is a terrible idea," she said.

Tony smiled. "But you love me anyway."

Her breath hesitated before she spoke again. "But not in the way you want me to," she said, pulling away from his grasp.

"Pep-"

"Tony, we tried. We failed. I'm with Happy now, but I'm not going to leave you. If anything, you need me more than ever for this stupid plan of your to work. But we're not going to be like that Tony. Not again. I can't do that again. You're asking for something I can't give, and I don't want that to come between us. I know it's rough right now, and it might be rough for a long time, but I'll be here for you until the end."

Tony understood that. Understood why she had to leave. Why they couldn't be together anymore. It didn't stop the hurt though. Didn't stop the guilt when he caught himself looking at someone else. Most likely, it would never stop, just fade to hurt less. "Couldn't leave even if you wanted," he said, with a pained smile. "I sign your checks."

Pepper rolled her eyes. "I sign my own check."

"But I'm irresistible," he said, gravitating toward her side.

"You're incorrigible Tony, though I doubt you even know that it means," she responded, not bothering to move away from his approach.

"How much you want to bet that I do?"

"How does a week of actually showing up to work on time sound?" she said with a cocky smile.

A loud 'ah hem' broke the two apart. "Are you done flirting yet?"

"Barton. I thought you were surveying," Tony was suddenly conscious of the location of his hand on his assistant's ass. When did that get there?

"I was. I finished," he stated bluntly. "I thought you two broke up months ago."

"We did," they said in unison.

Clint shrugged, his shoulder against the threshold of the door. "Hey, whatever floats your boat boss."

"Don't even start with me Barton. I know where you live," Tony scolded playfully. He wasn't in the mood for another talk about 'the birds and the bees and other interesting things a duo could do' anytime soon.

"As if you're loud ass could sneak up on me, let alone land a hit," he said, sauntering in like he owned the place.

"One of these days Hawkeye, I will get the drop on you." It was an empty threat and both of them knew it.

"Considering you didn't even notice me while you were eyeing that blond hunk in the breadline, I highly doubt that," he huffed.

"Tony?"

"What?" asked Tony, very aware now of the eyes on him and the heat racing up to his cheeks. "I was just making casual conversation."

"Didn't look like that to me," smirked Clint.

Did he see? Did he notice? There was no way he could have. Even Tony was a wasn't sure if it actually happened. Unless it did. Steve wasn't the most subtle person in the world. With that sun kissed hair, and that gorgeous shoulder to waist ratio. God, artists would have a field day over his David like figure. And his smile with those sea blue eyes, Steve could make any person melt into a pile of goo.

Clint wasn't given the codename "Hawkeye" for nothing. And that's exactly what it was, nothing. Tony just had to stick to it. "Barton, now would be a good time to shut up," warned Tony. 'Smooth Stark. Don't say anything that could be misinterpreted. Why not give them another reason to leave you high and dry.'

"What did it look like?" asked Pepper, getting that curious glint in her eyes.

"Barton. Don't you dare."

Clint smiled as he slid into the chair at one of the workstations. He was baiting Tony and they both knew it. "Looked like our boss was looking for a bit of fun on the wild side."

Tony balled his fist against one of the workbenches. "That's it! I was planning on making you a new bow, but since you said that-"

"Oh come on boss," said Clint, casually putting his feet up on the table. "No hard feelings here. Everyone is glad that you're moving on."

Oh dear god. "Everyone? You told everyone?"

Clint smirked. "Only the important ones."

Tony groaned as he plopped down next to a table and buried his head in his arms. That's it. He was ruined. Leave it to Barton and his big mouth to make a whole lot of nothing out of a little event. Not being het was fine in private (Tony and his lieutenants grew up in the 20s where freedoms of all kinds were welcome. Hell, Tony encouraged any show regardless of type or orientation as long as all parties were of sound age and consent). But in the cutthroat business world, it was hide or die. For the most part, Tony could care less what the media or other people thought of his "unconventional hobbies." But with Obie in the mix, that changed everything.

He couldn't have this sullied part of him paraded around like a prized cow. Not here. Not now. If his true colors were revealed the company would be taken away from him for good. Probably auctioned up at a ridiculously low price. His people would be out of a job, forced to hit the streets in horrid economic conditions. A high percentage would fall to suicide or the bottom of a bottle. That didn't even take into account the plan.

The plan. The plan would be outright ruined. Whoever was smuggling weapons onto the streets would have a heyday with the amount of suddenly legal and valuable property curtesy of one Anthony Stark "outed fairy". Forget the leak. Losing the company would break open the damn. His name would be more than ruined, it would be ventilated and throw to the bottom of the Hudson with only a pair of cement shoes for comfort.

Oh god.

What would Obie think?

Everyone else close to him, their opinions didn't matter (Tony would like it if they did approve. He really would. That would be super swell. But, reality was you can't come out without stepping on a few toes). But Obie...

In the back of his head, he registered Pepper giving a stern whispering to Clint before a warm hand grazed his shoulder. "Tony," Pepper said in that warm and wonderful voice that made him feel like everything would be okay. "For what it's worth, I'm happy that you're trying to move on."

Tony peaked out from beneath his arms like a child hiding from his parents. Not a single hint of anger or disgust in their eyes. If anything, Clint even looked slightly guilty. It made his heart melt a little. Only a little. "I still like girls Pep," he mumbled.

Pepper smiled. "Oh I know you do. I don't doubt it considering all the unsavory memories I have of kicking your late night houseguests out."

Tony uncurled from his spot.

"For what it's worth," said Clint, conveniently examining the walls with great interest. "By everyone I just meant Rhodey, Jarvis, and you two. Just because I act stupid doesn't mean I really am." And that was as close to an apology as Tony would get. And he was fine with that.

He could trust his lieutenants and butler with just about anything. Obie, well, Obie's approval meant more to him than anything. He couldn't find out that Tony was bi. Or that he was a mob boss. Or that he lost his virginity at the age of 13 while under the influence of four different types of narcotics. Important things like that.

"So," said Tony, clearing his throat from the conversation he would rather not have. "I assume you have another reason to be here aside from questioning my sexuality."

"Nah, I just like to see you panic like a scared chicken," Clint said with a mischievous wink. "Just reporting back from recon. Most of the good parts of town are taken, but there are some small time street gangs in the Lower East Side that we can easily take out. Not optimal for business, but we can make it work if we advertise right."

"That being said, the Gandor Family said they'd be willing to lease us some of their turf, rent and interest added on of course, until we get accustomed to the Big Apple. Said something about getting off the map as quiet as possible. Nothing wrong with the turn far as I can tell. Bleeding us dry for rent might cause some issues if we stay for the long haul. And, for what it's worth, Keith trusts us, so that means something."

"Yeah, rather not take that option if we have to," Tony considered aloud. "What about arms Pep? What are we looking at?"

Pepper took a preparatory breath. This was not going to be good. "Overall it doesn't look that bad. A few pieces here. A few pieces there. But Tony, this has been going on for years. And the records are horrendous. It took me all morning just to figure out where to begin."

"Then put Jarvis on what you can't handle and let me run our companies. I can handle being a big boy for a few weeks."

Pepper looked exasperated. "Tony, this might take more than a few weeks."

"Then I'll deal with it when we get to it," said a stubborn Tony. From here on out, he needed to be strong. No distractions. No running away. No dip worthy men sending him off course. This was his reality now. All that was theory was becoming fact. Whatever needed to be done to reach his goal, whatever responsibility he had to take on, whatever blood had to be spilt on him or spilt by his hand, Tony needed to be ready for that.

"Barton, you and Rhodey start marking up territory. I want to see our name in the paper when I wake up tomorrow."

"We going with the Gandor turf?" asked Clint.

"No, we need to make our own. I want to be able to go and come whenever, how ever I please. Start with the few shops you scouted out, but if you see anything better, take it. No questions asked. And knock over a few joints in other areas too while you're at it. Don't want the coppers pinning us down to early. We can get our own turf just fine while still remaining in the Gandor's graces."

"You gonna let me run free on the how?" asked Clint, fingering a hidden blade along the length of his thigh.

"You know the rules Hawkeye. Stick to them," said Tony absentmindedly. Clint's work was always good. He was a pain in the ass sometimes, but he knew how to get the job done quickly and efficiently. Provide you didn't mind an army of arrows sticking out of a body as a calling card. After their first hit with Hawkeye in tow, it never bothered Tony. Hawkeye did his job and he did it well. That was all that mattered. But considering the weapons of choice from his other lieutenants, never let it be said that the Iron Family was subtle. Plus, Tony couldn't be bother to care about that right now. Too many things to think about.

"You got it boss," said Clint, almost skipping out of the room. Most likely, he was creating a shopping list of where to pick up necessary supplies.

"And me?" asked Pepper.

"You and Jarvis follow up on the missing weapons," Tony said, rolling up his sleeves as far as they could go in today's fashion. "Dig as far as you can go, and then dig some more. I want to know anything that strikes you as odd. I'll need the distractions."

"Is that code for 'I'm going to hid in my lab now. Please don't bother me unless it's with more coffee?'"

"Did I mention that I was making presents for everyone and that you're in charge of everything I don't want until I get back?"

Pepper rolled her eyes. "First time you did that, I thought you were giving me the opportunity of a lifetime. Now, I just see it as you being lazy."

"Love you Pep," Tony said, absorbing himself into the nooks and crannies of his new work space.

"Love you too Tony. Though I sometimes forget why."

* * *

Tony, why do you have to be a little shit and have over 4,000 words in MORE THAN ONE CHAPTER!?

Third chapter will be posted in two weeks and then we'll get back to our regularly scheduled program. After adjusting the outline for this story, it looks like the entire thing will be about 15 chapters.

... Why the fuck do you keep growing you little shit!

Let me know if you have any questions or feedback. Not a crap week. Just exhausting.

Follow me on my tumbler (miniblackraven) and see all the shit I reblog. Also find this same story and more on AO3 under the name miniraven.


	3. Back to Business: Steve

Theirs was a little room in the back of a red brick warehouse. There was absolutely no circulation during the summer months, and the free hanging lights swung back and forth in the spring, summer, fall, and winter air that snaked through the cracks and openings in the poorly constructed windows. The boys had tried to make it their own adding posters, pictures, and miscellaneous souvenirs for various fights up in the wall, but Steve would freely admit the place was crap in quality and sad if you stayed more than the span of their weekly meetings (not they they met only that one time. It was just the one time a week that meetings were "official"). The lone light above the room highlighted the lack of furniture, easily making it feel vast and empty if it wasn't for the empty crates and pallets stacked in a disorganized manner along the walls.

For the moment, Steve was using a combination of six boxes and a pallet as a makeshift seat and table. Actually, all the Brooklyn Boys used the empty crates as unofficial seats. During rum runs, the crates were removed from the room, leaving it bare until the boys returned with the empty crates to use, once again, for sitting spots until they were needed once again. Occasionally, they ended up short a crate if one of them ran into trouble or caused trouble on the way back.

Steve loved the fact that the room was always changing with the makeshift setup. Some weeks, the wall was hidden by a wall of wood, while other weeks Bucky would find it entertaining to make himself a throne with the empty boxes. Thor often made forts and wasn't that one hell of a month when they tried to conduct meetings. It wasn't a perfect setup, but it worked well enough for their mixed family .

A single wooden door separated their small storage/meeting room from the rest of the large warehouse, and while they couldn't use it during working hours, at night it was theirs to roam freely about. They could easily have meetings in a larger space and store whatever they needs without any questions. As long as they didn't do anything too crazy, rent was reasonable and the owner was appeasing to their activities. It was close enough to their apartment that late night outings didn't cause much of a stir, but far enough that they had reason to play dumb if anything happened. Large enough to hide vehicles for rum runs, but inconspicuous enough that a few extra cars weren't noticed or missed.

"Honey, I'm home!"

Steve didn't bother looking up from his sketch book. He was too busy trying to get the shape of the unknown face just right. "Anything to report solider?" He asked.

"Aw, not even a welcome home kiss?" teased Bucky.

Steve smiled behind his sketch pad. "Thor?"

"Happy to oblige Captain," replied a beefy blond, placing both hands on Bucky's cheeks and pulling him into a full on kiss.

Even if Thor was a fob (fresh off the boat immigrant) he knew some American mannerisms. Enough to know that kissing another man like that was not appropriate. But, being boisterous and lovable Thor, he picked and choose what rules to follow. Partly because he was basically a big blond puppy dog that loved to love others in a very skinship sort of fashion. Mostly because people didn't expect him to know any better and just went along with the charade. And a little bit was because it pissed off Bucky. But Bucky's reaction made the grand gestures of familiarity all the more enjoyable, so who could blame them.

"Dammit Donald! I thought I told Jane to talk to you about this," Bucky said, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

"We did," said Thor with his thousand watt smile. " But Lady Jane said Captain's orders came first before any social norm."

Steve smiled silently. Good old Jane Foster playing along with their antics. They were lucky such a pretty doll like her fit in so well with their little disaster of a family.

"Status report," he reminded his crew.

"Nothing unexpected on the perimeter," reported Bucky. " Couple vultures on the west side, but nothing knocking a few heads in didn't fix."

"And the juice?" he asked, securing the pad in a safe place for later.

"Jane said the next batch of Odin's Beer should be ready by week's end, but the Asgardian Mead will need until mid week of next before it is ready for consumption."

"And the orders? We have enough to make a profit?"

"If our guys pay us our due, yeah, we got enough," reported Sam as he walked into the back room. "Double checked the number this morning and each bottle has a name on it. Don't worry Steve, none of the work will be going to waste."

Steve let out a sigh of relief. As much as hated breaking the rules set by the government, in this case the rules were wrong. The way the government was regulating alcohol wasn't leading to reform. If anything, it had lead to the exact opposite. Current legalization led to people sneaking out to dangerous and unsavory that had once been beautiful, safe, legal locations. Speakeasy ran the risk of being shut down for running an operation that had been legal not ten years ago. Of course people might say the roaring twenties was neither here nor there, but some freedoms once tasted were hard to forget.

Look at Steve as a prime example, age of 16 and ready to come out, only to be scared off by radical conservative expectations and legalization. Ended up joining the service for a few years to help out the family back home. But when the stock market crashed and a wave of polio swept through his neighborhood, Steve was the first to quit the force to fight the good fight on the home front. He didn't make the money like he did in the force, in fact he didn't make any money at all. So he turned to bootleg, the lesser of evils, as a service to others and a way to provide for himself. In his defense, drugs, prostitutes, and firearms would make his late mother faint faster than bootleg ever would.

Making bootleg to help others make ends meet, taking only a small portion to support themselves and run their operation. It wasn't the optimal situation, but the depression was hard on everybody. Steve and his crew were just trying to make the best of a bad economic time.

"All efforts going to a good cause. That's what I like to hear," said Steve.

"Might also want to put a few extra eyes on the street and in the air if we want to have a clean run. Looks like we got some new neighbors moving in." Sam flashed a copy of the morning rag.

"Is it bad?"

"What do you think Barnes? How bad do you have to be to make it on the front page of the morning paper?"

Bucky swore under his breath as he grabbed the morning paper.

"What do they say about our _good neighbors_?" asked Thor, his voice was boisterous as always, but the glow in his smile revealed the thick sarcasm behind his words.

"Nothing much," Sam admitted. "But I think someone knows more than they're letting on. According to SHIELD's black and white, a few shops got renovated between last night and this morning. Lots of holes, empty casings, and spilled goods. What they forgot to mentions the fact that theses shops are fronts for small time solicitors." Solicitors meaning less than legal trading of goods.

"Anyone we know?" asked Steve with a worried frown.

Sam shook his head. "Keeping my ear to the ground, but nothing so far. Who ever did this wanted to be noticed, but for some reason, they ain't talking."

"Guess we're assuming someone's crouching in on turf," muttered Bucky as he worked through the words on the page. "Don't say nothin about no Nazi symbol."

"Whatever their reason, that's none of our concern," said Steve, trying to bring back the group's focus. He could easily see how information about the "new kids in town" could cause panic in the group if the mulled over long enough. Of all things Steve needed in his life, an out of controlled distraction was the last thing he needed. Things were finally coming to a head and he didn't need an extra player stepping into the mix when it wasn't necessary or relevant.

"Unless they give us reason to worry, best to keep doing what we've been doing and keep our heads down. If Sam's info is as reliable as he says it is,"

"And it always is," added a smug Sam.

"Then they'll pass right over us. No point in a big bad groups attacking small fry like us."

Steve noticed how his group nodded in hesitant agreement.

"Sometimes I hate being small fry," grumbled Bucky.

Steve gave him the best 'I'm getting tired of your bull shit, so just shut your face,' look that he could muster. "Winter Soldier, I need an increase in security at all times. Of our turf, collateral, and all other things that anyone might be interested in."

"Fine," grumbled Bucky. As much as Bucky bitched and moaned, Steve knew Bucky was always there to back him up with whatever was necessary.

"Thor, we need to speed up the processing of the prohibition. Talk to Jane and see what you can do to make things go faster."

"It shall be done!"

Steve nodded his approval. "Sam, with me. Winter Soldier, Thor, you have your assignments. Get to work."

With a brusque nod they split ways, leaving only Steve and Sam in the lonely room.

Steve let out a frustrated sigh as soon as the others were out of earshot. "Think they'll come this way?" asked Steve. Theories and strategies were already forming in his head. With all the moving parts in his life, new competition was really not something he wanted in his life right now.

"Don't know," admitted Sam. " But here's what I figure, this isn't some new group trying something big to make their mark. All that damage in one night, someone's gotta be rolling in green for all the manpower and munitions required for the job."

"Any hunches you can give me Falcon? Origin? Name?" asked Steve, trying his best to hide his worrying.

Sam shrugged. "Sorry Cap. Nothing reliable in the woodworks as of yet. But I'll tell you what little rumor I hear. There's a name being passed around in the back alleys and dark corners of rooms. The Iron Family."

Iron Family. Steve committed the dreadful name to memory. "Anyone got intel on that name?"

Sam's mouth twitched downward. Definitely a "no" then.

"Come on Sam. You gotta give me something to work with. I know the black community is crazy for gossip, and you're the best informant I got. You gotta give me something else to go on. A hunch? A guess?"

Sam only blew out a harsh stream of air, equally exhausted as the Cap. " I don't know what to tell you that you haven't thought of already. Keep your head down? Like I said, I don't think these guys mess around with small time."

Something was off. Steve could tell. It wasn't the feeling that Sam knew more. Sam gave Steve all he got. He always did. But that wasn't what was off. There was something more going on.

"You're not telling me everything," said Steve. Sam's eye widened in surprise. Yup, definitely more. Steve watched quietly as his wingman closed off from him, crossing his arms and stealing his mouth with a defiant line. Was it really that important that Steve didn't know? Was it really worth the secretary to keep Steve in the dark?

"Lay it on me Sam," he said, trying again. "I'm the boss here. You know I gotta know no matter what."

The wrinkles in Sam's brow deepened, but Steve saw hope when Sam ruffled his short dark curls with his fingers, as if doing so would loosen the right answers, or his tongue. "One guy," he finally said. "One guy, five shops, and a Tommy in each hand. That's the word from the rumor mill."

Steve feel his stomach drop down to the floor. "Holy shit," he gasped, staggering back.

"Yeah, not your average Joe, that's for sure."

Steve began to panic. "We gotta know what we're dealing with here Falcon."

"And we will Steve," reassured Sam. "But we gotta do it quite like. Hands like those don't hesitate for little guys like us."

Steve ran a hand through the blond of his hair. "Do you think it would be too much to call back the Black Widow."

"Honestly, for a job like this, I don't even think the Black Widow could stand a chance again guys like this. For a job like this, we'll need everyone on board."

* * *

**Note:** Thanks go to kuailong for the beta. It was great talking to you in person!

Short chapter this week. Next one will be longer. Because Tony is a little shit that has too much to say. ... Fuck you too Tony.

If you have any speculations or questions, please comment. I need to know if I need to drop more hints.

Chapter 4 and 5 need some minor edits, chapters 6-7 are in the major editing process, and chapter 8 is in draft form. Basically, your feedback can influence parts of the story. Just btw.

Follow me on my tumbler (miniblackraven) and see all the shit I reblog. Also find this same story and more on AO3 under the name miniraven.


	4. Shells on the Floor

As much pomp and circumstance Tony put on about loving the spotlight, there was nothing Tony loved better than tinkering away alone in his lab. The smell of smoke and melting metal, coupled with loud jazz bouncing of the stone cold walls, nothing could make Tony feel any closer to home.

That's how Obie found him, tangled up in a knotted mess of wires, loud and crazy jazz bellowing out of his gramophone. Admist the mess, Tony could faintly hear Obie trying to be yell over the loud music. Tony ignored him. He had gotten really good at it over the years. The unconventional jazz helped with that too.

The cool cats called it bebop. Pepper called it was mindless noise. Rhodey, who absolutely loved jazz, called it cats on a keyboard. "Aint' no way that stuff could be popular," he once told Tony. But Tony loved it. Musical chaos Tony often called it. It had just enough of a beat that it didn't dissolve into discord and just enough crazy that it pissed everyone else right the fuck off.

"What the hell are you trying to do?" asked Stane, removing the needle off the record before removing a hand from his ear.

"Uh, the sign says 'do not disturb genius,' and the music is clearly part of my genius," said Tony, as he looked around the tangle of wires for the magical one to unravel them all.

"Tony," Stane let out an exasperated sigh that Tony was all too familiar with. "It's crap."

"I happen to like it."

"Why can't you listen to white jazz like other people your age? Like Jack Tegarden, Bix Biederbecke, or even the Original Dixieland Jazz Band?"

Did Tony have to list the reasons in order for Obie? Well, for one, discriminating between white and colored music left a whole lot of empty space that just wasn't necessary. Why segregate when the colored music was just as good as white music? Two, colored music was ten times better than white music. Colored music was full of soul and passion, something that popular white artists lacked. Three, black music was unashamedly loud and over the top. Just how Tony liked his music.

But he didn't say any of that. Obie didn't need to know about that part of him. Just like he didn't need to know about the ever expanding list of 'things Obie doesn't need to know.' He settled on, "What do you want Obie?" as he tugged at a few loose wires.

"I want an update. Something I can present to the board."

Really? This again? "No, you want a fully functional weapon in the little more than a week that I've been here," replied Tony, sliding out from under the mess. He felt pissed and a little betrayed as he set his tools down on one of the workbenches. "Is that what I am to you Obie? A weapons factory? I'm hurt. I thought we were past the one-night stands with my guns and into romantic walks on the beach."

"Tony." The undertone of Stane's warning held more meeting than the single word.

"I know Obie, we're a weapons company, but how many times do I have to tell you we aren't at war? There's no rush."

"Just because we're not at war doesn't mean the needs for weapons goes away. I told you before, Russia is undergoing a revolution as we speak. They need weapons, Tony. I've been contacted by five different factions within the past month about new contracts. And with that Hitler guy as the head of Germany and the Nazi party, it's possible that all of Europe might got to war again in the next few years. We're talking about global opportunities here Tony, not just domestic."

In frustration, Tony threw down his pair of wire cutters and plopped down in an empty chair. Why didn't Obie understand? Why didn't anybody understand? Why couldn't the world just put its revolutions and political uprisings on hold until he figured everything out!

Stane pulled up a seat next to him. He ran a caring hand across Tony's back. It was warm, and it felt so familiar. "Tony, I know you've got something cooking in that brain of yours, but you gotta tell me what's going on. I can't help you if you keep me out like this."

Tony let out a tired sigh and rubbed his face. "That's the thing Obie," he said, pushing out of the chair and pacing across the room. His hands flew around his head in increasing frustration.

"I've got all these ideas running around in my head, but technology is not far enough along to accommodate me, and my hands aren't nearly fast enough to accurately write down everything that goes on up there. Do you even understand what that's like Obie? To want to create something only to realize you don't have the tech to go from point A to point B? It's aggravating! I have all the resources I could ever what, unlimited funding, but no matter what I try, I don't have what I need to get this thing up to 500 horsepower without burning out!" he emphasized throwing a wrench against the wall.

The resulting clatter of the metal falling was ear shattering. The bits of the wall crumbling on top of it all was cringe worthy. Tony's breath was short and sporadic. His eyes were wide and wild from the rant. He tried to calm himself by leaning on a metal table, but the tremors from his body made the table shudder under his weight. Tony tried to breathe. He tried to take deep calming breath like Bruce had taught him, but it was useless. His lungs felt small and tight. The unnatural weight in his chest felt like it was pushing in all the wrong places. He needed to calm down. He needed air. Why wouldn't his body accept the air?

A warm hand wrapped around his shoulders, and Tony was five years old again. "I know it's been a long time since you made something for someone else," Stane said in a gentle voice that could rock Tony to sleep. "But give it a little time Tony. You'll get it eventually. Just like riding a bicycle."

A breath of air finally reached his brain. The parts were beginning to move again. The cogs in his brain were slowly ticking away."Never ridden a bicycle," mumbled Tony

"But you know what I mean," replied Obie with a smile. "Relax. Read a book. Take a walk." Stane took a whiff of Tony's hair and made a face. "Maybe take a shower too. When was the last time you took care of yourself?"

"Uh…" His brain supplied no answer.

"Thirty two hours ago," replied Pepper, walking into the lab. "And that's not even close to the record."

"Pepper!" Tony could hug her right now.

"Chicken sandwich, hold the mayo," she said, shoving a white wrapped package into Tony's hands. "Eat."

"I'm fine Pep. Promise."

"I'll believe it after that sandwich is gone"

"Killing me here Pep," he sang as he unwrapped the fresh morsel.

Pepper rolled her eyes. "Rescuing you from dying, more like."

"Ms. Potts," Stane greeted Pepper with a smile.

"Mr. Stane"

"You settling in well?"

"Yes sir."

"I heard a rumor that you're engaged to Mr. Hogan." Tony's ears perked. Why hadn't he heard that rumor? More curiously, why did the rumor exist when he didn't start it?

Pepper took the question in stride. "Nothing official yet, but I'm hoping soon."

Hello, surprise from Pepper. What are you doing here? You were not part of the plan.

Stane's grin was wide as a across his taught face. "Well, I expect to see a wedding invitation in my mailbox within the next few months."

"I'll be sure you get one Mr. Stane," said Pepper with a courteous smile.

And because Stane was an asshole, a few seconds later he asked, "How many kids is Happy thinking about? Five? Six?"

Tony had heard enough. "Obie, stop harassing my PA," Tony warned through a bite of tomato and meat.

"I'm not harassing," Stane looked very offended. "I'm just asking about the future. Once she gets married, she's not going to stick around much longer."

Tony rolled his eyes. "Pep, thinking of quitting, doll face?"

"To be fair, I ask myself that every morning before work."

"Dully noted," Tony replied before shuffling around some projects with a free hand. He was going to get this figured out even if it killed him.

"Tony," Stane ruined the fun. As usual. "I hate to be a busy body, but we need something to show the board. We're meeting with them this afternoon, remember? A prototype, a model, a sketching on a napkin. Anything you can give them."

Ignorable. He rustled through the papers louder pretending to look busy.

"Speaking of meetings," interrupted Pepper. "A business friend from Boston came in unexpectedly and has requested lunch with you."

Tony stopped shuffling through papers. That bit was not ignorable. "Friends" droping in "unexpectedly" was never a good thing in their line of work. And Tony wasn't thinking about his work at Stark Industires.

"Unexpected?" he confirmed.

"Unexpected."

"Just dropped in?"

"From Boston."

Damn, that wasn't good.

"Well, there you have it Obie," Tony said, spinning around in his chair. "As much as I am dying to deal with the board, I'm off for lunch with a friend. Wheeling and dealing, that sort of thing. You wouldn't understand."

He needed to get out of the lab, and he needed to get out now. If what Pepper said was true, Tony didn't even want to think about it. He could pratically hear the gunfire and pings of empty shells falling to the ground.

"Really Tony? You're leaving me high and dry again?"

Tony sighed. God he hated being responsible. He really didn't want to release it. The thing wasn't even close to being ready, but everything else was in the 'Obie doesn't need to know' file, so that left little to use as a distraction. "I don't have a sample, but I can give you a copy of the plans," he said, handing over a thick roll of drafting paper.

Stane unrolled the paper. His face twisted in confusion. "What's this?" Ah, he had found the mess of numbers and computations. Not even a fraction of crazy compared to the preliminary diagrams and layouts.

"A helper robot," Tony replied absentmindedly, gathering the necessary things for an afternoon out. "Or, more of a helper hand. Can't decide if it's going to be autonomous or dependent, but either way, problems. Still in the 'tech that needs to catch up to my genius before I can make it into reality' stage. But it should be confusing enough and look impressive enough to keep the board off our back for a bit."

Stane shook his head. "Sometimes I can't tell if you're really a genius or just fucking with us," he muttered. "But it'll work for the meeting. I'll do what I can to keep them off our backs."

"Just confuse them enough to buy me some more time. I don't want their expectations too high when I actually knock their socks off with my genius," Tony said, heading for the door.

"Don't take too long. Remember, we're having dinner with Hammer Industries at the Plaza. And the discussion for the military contracts are coming up soon."

"Then I will do my absolute best to forget," he said with a wave over his shoulder as he and Pepper walked out the lab and to the elevator.

As the doors secured around them and the metal box descended, Tony switched over to work mode. No more fake smiles. No more hidden agenda. A stright back, squred shoulders, and cold heart at the ready. The plans swarming around in his head flipped over, and he began doing a quick mental check of all the components necessary for their transofrmation. "Pepper? What's the status on the suit?"

Her eyes were on the flashing lights as they moved down toward the basement level. "Your things are already prepared and in the car."

"And your things?"

"Already taken care of," she replied with a smirk. "Just promise not to peak while I change."

"I've seen worse," he said, as they walked out to a familiar black limo. "You're engaged?" he asked, holding the door open for Pepper.

"No." He could hear Pepper rolling her eyes as she slipped into the car.

"Good. I would have forgotten to get you a present."

"Don't worry, I would have gotten it for you."

"Would it have been thoughtful?"

"Oh yes. Happy and I would be very impressed by your thoughtfulness."

"Good for me. Make it happen when you actually get engaged."

"Of course Mr. Stark."

* * *

A stout chauffuer pulled up to the curb of a rundown shop in the Lower Eastside. It was a nice little shop with a now beat up black door and a Victorian style window with the glass shot out to the right. But, if asked, the neighbors would say the shop had seen better days. Last Tuesday was a particularly good day for the shop. It was the day before the shop and all its occupants and product were ventilated by a tall creature that called itself War Machine.

With a name like War Machine, the local patrons and residents had paid particular attention to stay away from the "Under Construction" signs that hung from the window. Good thing too, considering there was a second hit on the same location just over a week later.

Not minding the fresh pools of red and the scattered bodies on the road, the chauffeur stepped out of the black limo and straightened his uniform and black mask. In a practiced motion, he got out and opened the curb door for his valued employer. The two forms that stepped out the vehicle stuck out like a straight-laced copper in a juice joint. The white suit, red dress shirt, and white tie the woman wore was almost subtle compared to her male counterpart. He captured the attention of every onlooker with his stark red three piece suit and gold pocket square. Unlike usual Mafioso, the man wore no tie. Instead, a bright blue light shown like a rising sun over the top of his gold vest. The only thing that made it the least bit subtle was a brown trench coat that hung off his shoulders like a second skin.

From underneath the iconic red and gold metal helmet that encased his head, Iron Man, new money mob boss of the Iron Family, surveyed the situation.

"Look at this," said Iron Man, gesturing at the holes littered across the front entrance and surrounding wall. The grey dust of rock and wood was only just settling on the ground in a fine grain. "I make a name for myself in Boston by squashing the Ten Rings Gang into oblivion, and then I move here and this shit happens. Damn punks. Doesn't anybody in this town have any respect for another man's property?"

The only reply was a groan from a fallen body that Happy had forgotten to run over. The sap was slowly trying to crawl away from the wreckage, but Iron Man spotted a short arrow jutting out of his shoulder. Iron Man sauntered over to the pitiful soul and ground the heel of his black leather shoe into the man's injured shoulder. The man screamed out in pain.

"So you still have your tongue huh?" said Iron Man with distain. "Rescue, bag 'em up and take them to the lab. I want them ready for Hulk to question when I get back."

"Understood, sir," said the woman in white, her face a complete blank under a similarly shaped silver and red helmet. "Go ahead and check on the others inside. I'm sure they'd like to see you about now."

They being Rhodey and Clint. After the successful raid with War Machine the week prior, he had sent the pair to prepare a storefront together. The same storefront that Iron Man was standing in front of.

Tony wanted to ask if she would be okay. Pepper handled a lot of his dirty work: clothes, schedule, people, female guests, occasional male guests, but dead and almost dead bodies… Clint usually took care of those. But they didn't have the option now. If the bodies hadn't been taken care of by now, it was necessary. Iron Man was too far up the chain of command to get his hands dirty like this, and War Machine and Hawkeye were down for the count. It had to be her. Tony had every confidence that Rescue could handle the job, but the person inside the suit. The person burred under the persona. Pepper.

Pepper was special. Pepper was a sensitive soul. Pepper shouldn't have to deal with this kind of stuff. She would probably hold strong until she got home before collapsing on Happy and letting it all out. Tony hated to do that to her. He hated that he couldn't be the one to help her out with those things. But if their short romantic endeavor proved anything, it's that he was crap at being the comforting one in the relationship.

All Tony could do in the situation was nod in confirmation. "Take care of it." The 'be careful', was implied.

Iron Man punched the remains of the door open. Inside was worse than the outside. At least now the family had a slightly better excuse to renovate the place. The shoddy lights had been shot out completely and gray dust filtered through the rays of light from the bullet holes. Blood spatters decorated the once pristine walls. Moans of pain echoed down the brick walls making his heart race. Where were they? It shouldn't be that hard to find two of his best people.

"Roll call gents. Not paying you to slack off on the job," Iron Man yelled into the shady shop.

"Funny, ain't your name on the check," called back a familiar voice. Within seconds, Rhodey appeared from the secret back of the shop, a white cloth drenched in red wrapped around his leg. His hands were bloody, but it was too much to be his own.

"Boss," Clint grunted, pushing aside a bullet riddled table and some rubble. "Next time you want to test us, give us a warming first. I think I might'a broke something."

"Doesn't sound like your mouth," quipped Rhodey. "I think you'll live Barton."

Tony smiled behind the mask. "Nice shot Barton. Rescue is on body control, but looks like you two held down the fort just fine."

"If just fine you mean 'we got out a hairs breath away from death,' then I would agree," grumbled Rhodey, his hand grazing against the cold heat strapped to his side.

Cling gave a weak salute as blood ran down over an injured eye. "Credit is all yours boss. New toy worked like a charm," he said, showing off the portable crossbow strapped to his wrist.

He swelled a little with pride. One of Tony's inventions that wasn't reliant on arc reactor tech or, more importantly, owned by the government. A mounted crossbow that folded up to hide along the length of a person's arm. Easily concealed by a thick enough sleeve, but getting the string to maintain the tension between rest and active combat was a hell of a problem to solve. Took twenty six prototypes and four hundred seventy three test dummies before Clint was satisfied with the results.

"The Engineer does good work," replied Iron Man with an affirmative nod.

"So do these guys," griped Rhodey.

Iron Man scanned the new associates as they began to gather in the front around them. Many of them were worse for wear, but the majority looked like that would live with few or no scars. Their bandages were bloody and messy, but they were up and moving about. Rhodey and Clint had done a good enough patch job. Must have been a bad firefight if associates, not cold bodies, were first on the list. "Any clue who might have done this?"

"I can't say for sure, but I have a hunch," said an unfamiliar voice. An average Joe stepped out from behind Clint. An unassuming suit with a receding hairline and a simple smile. He was very well put together despite the prior fray. "I saw some cars parked on the side of the road before I came in. Didn't think too much about it, but I'm pretty sure I saw a few faces belonging to the Hydra gang."

Underneath the helmet, Tony raised a questioning eyebrow. "And you are-"

"Phil Coulson. I'm an information broker for the local paper, The SHIELD Daily Update." Phil offered his hand. Iron Man didn't take it.

"What about them Brooklyn Boys you were telling us about earlier," asked Clint trying to divert the attention from the empty hand. "Couldn't they do this?"

"No, the Brooklyn Boys don't have the fire power to pull this off. They're more of a 'fists and knives' gang," replied Phil, taking back his hand. "Besides, The Brooklyn Boys never come this far north. The Captain is a good enough man that he mostly keeps to his side of the river."

"Then why give us the info at all?" asked Iron Man, crossing his arms across the glow of the reactor. "Information brokers like you usually want something in return. Why tell us for free when we could knock each other off in revenge?"

"Think of is as a welcoming present, Mr. Iron. A gift in hope that you will use our services again." Phil said with a gentle smile. "And from the report I have on your character, you're not the type to pin the blame where it doesn't belong. That means a lot to us at SHIELD. We need more people like you in this town Mr. Iron. Welcome to New York City." With that, he turned to head out the door.

As he passed Clint on the way out, Phil reached into his jacket pocket for something. "Thank you for the conversation Mr. Barton. Here's my card. Call if you ever need anything," Phil handed it over with a wink, before closing what was left of the building door behind him.

* * *

Iron Man just stared at the door. What the hell just happened? His missed a lot of a conversation. But a conversation about what?

"What did you tell him?" Iron Man asked Clint.

"Why are you looking at me?" accused Clint. If Iron Man could raise a questioning eyebrow, he would.

"Nothing big, just the usual," Clint said dismissively. "We're from Boston. Moved here for a change of scenery. You brought War Machine, Rescue, and Hawkeye from your top brass, and everyone else don't know nothing."

"And?"

Clint shoved his hands in his pockets and hunched over. "And somebody called a hit on the Engineer, so if we happen to find the baster who did it, ain't no big thing if we happen to knock 'em over."

"Barton-" Iron Man's voice was filled with an icy warning.

"What? It's true." True except the name. The Engineer did get hit with a Stark shrapnel bomb (military grade. It was supposed to be in the testing stages), landing Tony with a chest full of metal. By all accounts, he should have died, heck he almost did. But Yinsen and Bruce, god bless Bruce Banner, did enough of a patch job that Tony recovered enough to finish the job himself.

"Besides," muttered Barton, looking at the door with thoughtful eyes. "Seemed like the kind of guy you could tell that type of stuff to. Trust worthy type."

He'd heard enough. One hand reached under his jacket to the holster wrapped around his chest. Feeling the cold familiar metal in his hand, Iron Man pulled out the weapon and pointed the barrel at Barton. His heart and head were steady in the tense air. His body was apprehensive, but controlled. Unlike the nerves of the new associates. Their eyes were the size of saucers as they looked on. Each one clung to the others like helpless rats. Apparently, they were not used to seeing disciplinary action.

"Boss?"

Iron Man stared down Clint with cold eyes as he pulled back on the trigger. He felt a satisfying chill run down his back as the associates looked away. The resulting shot was deafening as it echoed throughout the damaged building.

With hesitant eyes, the associates turned their eyes toward the scene. Centimeters away from Clint's intact head, was a fresh hole and a still red hot bullet embed in the wall.

"If I did care that you blabbed, I wouldn't have the mercy to shoot you in the head," Iron Man said, cocking back the smoking weapon. "If we didn't need that info out there, I'd shoot you in the knees and then strap you to the tracks for the 5 o'clock train."

Always the fool, Barton. Always playing the fool. Pretending to trust others with planted information. Pretending to be the fearful associate to show the others how it's done with no prior notice from Tony. God, he loved that carnie.

"Do the rest of you understand?" Iron Man said, turning his attention to the cowering children. "My men of Iron will protect you from anything. But if you so much as utter a word of treachery to anyone, you better pray to whatever Gods you have that fate intervenes. Because I will not be as merciful. I know what it means to be in pain," he said, tapping the glow in his chest. "Now, imagine my pain transferred tenfold to you." His voice began to rise with the gravity of the warning.

"That is what you should expect if you betray me. There will be no second changes. No excuses of 'I will do better next time.' Work is hard to come by friends, and protection is even harder. You idiots are a dime a dozen, and don't think I don't have what it takes to throw your ass to the curb if you fail me. This is the only warning you will get. Do I make myself clear?" He inspected the line of fools, glaring each of them down into submission. Not a one of them moved to leave.

"I want the place looking spotless by the end of the week!" he yelled. "I want rum runners ready with the local best before we open at the end of the month. We only got one shot at this, and if we don't do well, I'll do more than shoot bullets at your head. Am I clear?"

"Yes boss," chorused the fresh meat.

"Good. Get to work!" Iron Man waltzed out of the storefront in a whirl of brown trench coat and red suit.

* * *

Hurt. They had been hurt bad. The limping. The blood. The missing of limbs. The shadows of the past still haunted his dreams no matter how many sleeping pills he took. Next time, it would be worse. He couldn't do anything about it now. All he could do was prepare for the next time.

The armor. If only they had the armor. But it wasn't ready. Heads were safe. But bodies… The idea was tangled up in his head, tangled in wires and logistics. He need more time, more space to work, but that was an impossibility now. The code dictated a return hit, within twenty four hours was more effective. Too soon. His men weren't ready. The gifts were far from ready. The world was crashing down on his shoulders once again and he wasn't fucking ready to deal with it yet.

"Tony? What's wrong?"

Tony snapped out of his trance. Oh right. They had left the shop and had pulled into a back ally to change personas again. He's breath, free of the helmet, was heavy and haggard against the roof of the limo. Most of his clothes had been discarded haphazardly through the open car door, leaving him with a dark set of dress pants and a red dress shirt with the top buttons open to the spring breeze. He tried to shake the cold panic from his system.

"Nothing Pep," he said, with a reassuring smile.

With the press of a button, Pepper removed her helmet so she could give him the familiar glare of disbelief. Nothing needed to be said. The two had done this same song and dance enough times that they had memorized each other's lines.

Not wanting to prolong it any further, Tony grabbed an unassuming jacket from the back and walked off toward the park.

"Where do you think you're going?" Apparently Pepper wanted to continue their regularly scheduled program, but Tony wasn't in the mood for it today.

"Out," he said brusquely, donning the jacket. "I need some air."

* * *

Note: Sorry about the delay. I was having health issues.

The song that Tony was listening to is called Bebop by Dizzy Gillespie. He began his career in the mid to late 1930's, but didn't become famous for bebop until the 1940's. This song came out around 1944 (so I'm really messing with history) but I really think Tony would listen to this kind of music.


	5. Toast

"Brothers and sister," Schmidt's voice echoed across the crowd slowly gathering in the park. "Do you not see? Hitler is the answer to our problems! Under his leadership, he will bring pride, glory, and honor back to Germany!"

"How does this guy not run out of oxygen?" Steve asked, nudging Bucky between the ribs.

It was a nice day at the park. Birds chirped in the fresh spring air of the Lower Eastside. Children amused themselves with a game of kick the can. Schmidt screamed at people in a heavy German accent to join the FONG (Friends of New Germany) and preached about the God-like savior of Germany, known as Hitler. Well, aside from the verbal assault on American values, nice day in the park.

"We can't do nothing Steve," Bucky whispered, biting into an apple. "Parks are public property. Can't start a fight on open turf. We got a rep to keep intact."

"Doesn't mean we should stand by and do nothing," whispered Steve, crossing his arms across his chest. "He may have the right to free speech, but he's harassing the public with this bull."

"What do you think we should do? Take him out behind the dumpster and beat him up?"

Schmidt bellowed on. "England, France, and America are to blame for our misfortune! They punish us for the sins of our fathers. They punish us by taking our wares, giving us less than our due credit. They force us into work that is unfitting for men of any nation. They are the source of our economic crisis! And what do we do? We blame the banks when the real blame is larger than that. The blame is on them! On England! On France! On America! But when we look to the countries, to the nation, to the leaders of our nation, they blame us! Make our brothers and sisters in the home country carry crates of money just to pay for the necessities of life."

"The world and the nation will continue to punish us based off our heritage unless we act. Unless we tell them no. Unless we tell them, 'No more!' 'No more will I stand to be taken advantage of!' 'No more will my nation and my people be responsible for the mistakes of the past.' 'No more will I find shame in the fact that I am German!' Stand behind Hitler, brothers and sisters! He will lead us to victory! He will be the savior of Germany! He is our leader. He is our Fuehrer!"

The crowd erupted with energy. Steve squeezed his crossed arms in an attempt to hold his anger at bay. "Maybe we should," muttered Steve. "Teach this Nazi lover a lesson once and for all."

Before either of them could act, a well-aimed apple core flew over the crowd and knocked Schmidt upside the head. Schmidt's eyes zoned in on the assaulter, his face flaming red with swelling rage (hence the local nickname 'Red Skull').

"Hey bratwurst! Do us all a favor and ship yourself back to Germany. I'm sure Hitler would love a new red faced lap dog," the onlooker shouted with a laugh.

That only made Schmidt's face flush deeper. Steve was sure Schmidt would hit back, but he soldiered on through in insult. "Do you not see what I mean brothers and sisters? Before the war, Germany was respected. Feared by all. Now we are worth less than cattle. Berated, abused, discriminated against because of our heritage. Let us join forces to create a proud race once more! We are Aryans! We are superior! Hail Hitler!"

"Oh for the love of god, shut up!" yelled Steve. Others objectors in the crowd quickly began to raise their voice. A rock flew through the air, pelting Schmidt in the head, and that was the end of that. Schmidt tried in vain to protect himself from the rain of rocks, trash, and insults thrown relentlessly at him from the crowd. He tried to continue on, but the animosity from the crowd was too strong.

"You will all suffer!" yelled Schmidt as he ducked for cover. "Germany will rise again! Cut off on head, two more shall take its place!" he called as he ran for safety.

Steve shook his head in disbelief as the crowd began to disperse. "Nazi scum. Just because you have the right to way whatever you want doesn't mean you should. We made it into America! Have a little respect."

Bucky raised an eyebrow. "Deal go bad, I take it?" Bucky asked, finally getting why Steve was so angry. Normally Schmit's rants wouldn't rile Steve up enough to for him to start with insults and threats. But today-

Steve nodded as the pair slowly made their way to the edge of the park. "Real bad. Jones says he's business is on the up and up, and he can't take a risk on bathtub booze like ours. He says there's rumor going around 'bout a new joint opening up in the next few weeks, and he can't risk losing customers to unclean homemade stuff."

"Ouch," Bucky winced. "Nothing we can do about that. We got Jane's place as clean as they come. How much we loosing?"

"Three crates. Less we get someone interested in our 'less than legal' juice, we're going to be in the red."

"Damnit." Bucky ran a frustrated hand through his hair. His eyes looked upward as he considered their opinions. "Well, I got a couple of contacts that I haven't tried to sell our stuff to. I'll shake 'em down and let you know."

"Thanks Bucky." The smile was short lived. In his head, Steve was already running options of where else they could go. If the rumor was something to believed, they might lose more than half their business to changes in the pecking order. He couldn't afford that. He could barely afford to pay his crew their less than living wage. Something had to be done, but he was stumped on the what.

"You headed back to base?" asked Bucky, angling his body back to their side of town.

Steve shook his head. "In a bit. Need some space to think."

Bucky shrugged. "Suit yourself. Just be careful. You heard what Sam said last week"

Steve nodded and they parted ways. He sauntered over to a bench overlooking a sandbox and the kid's playground, and flopped down with a sigh.

"What the hell am I doing?" he murmured to himself. Steve wanted so bad to sink into the bench and forget everything. So much had happened within the past week, it wasn't even funny anymore. Not that it was to begin with, but Steve was getting tired of having the weight of the world on his shoulders. The Iron Family was an unwelcomed surprise to the pecking order, as was finding out that legislation to permit prohibition was being discussed in congress. Contracts for their booze were being dropped left and right, and it was making Steve antsy. Steve wasn't into politics, but Sam was. According to him and his sources in DC, they meant it this time. They had gone so far as proposing four different drafts and presenting it to the floor twice.

Steve tried to stay skeptical. As long as congress sat around did nothing, nothing would happen and his people could get paid. Once legislation passed to allow alcohol once again, well, Steve didn't want to think about that. There was no money in any account for an official business license. The Brooklyn Boys would be out of a job and out of income. The people who needed the extra income from the booze would have to find other ways to make ends meet. What were they to do then? Steve could always try his hand as a literature artist once again. People were always saying the soap advertisements were crap. Or he could try to join up with the army again. But what about everyone else?

Bucky would join up with him again, no doubt. But what about Thor? What about Sam? What about Jane? There weren't many decent jobs they could take.

What about Tony? What happened to him? Steve hadn't seen Tony in the breadline on Tuesday, and he waited until noon just in case Tony was running late. Did he run late? Did he come at all? Maybe Steve had read Tony wrong. Maybe Tony wasn't interested. Maybe Tony was just being nice. Maybe Tony was busy trying to find work like the rest of New York. Maybe Tony was right in front of him.

Steve snapped to attention. Tony? Was it really Tony? Steve had been absentmindedly scanning the park, but Tony was the last thing he expected to see out here. His clothes were to nice to fit Steve's original profile. But the distinctive facial hair, Steve would recognize that anywhere. He was dressed to the nines compared to when Steve saw him last. Bright red dress shirt and pressed pants made him stick out in brown neighborhood. Couldn't be Tony. Could it? What was Tony doing here of all places?

Fixing someone's scooter by the looks of it. Pocket knife in hand with various tools sticking out of his pockets, Tony was the epitome of pure concentration. Without a hat, Steve got a good look at the disheveled brown hair, elegant against the plains of his head. His eyes were cool and focused as his tongue darted back and forth across his plump lips. Steve's fingers began to twitch in anticipation. His eyes darted back and forth across the scene in front of him, breaking down all the little details that made this moment perfect. He needed to capture it. He needed to get it all down.

Steve tried not to stare too much as he pulled out a piece of old newsprint and began sketching Tony's form with strong dark strokes of charcoal. He hardly noticed when his fingers began to blacken as he added detail to the basic structures. He had to make the point just right if he wanted to capture the shadows and curves of the image perfectly. His eyes flashed up and down calculating and recreating each and every detail with his hands. As the image began to match reality, Steve felt that familiar rush of satisfaction.

Just as he finished the shadows that accented Tony's figure, he felt a tap on his shoulder. The kid remind Steve of what he was like when he was young, before the army. Skinny and short.

"Tony says, 'When you get your head out of your ass, you should go over and draw him.'"

"What?" asked Steve. He looked down at his sketch and felt a rush of embarrassment. No way was he fooling anyone with his particular brand of fascination. With clumsy fingers he somehow folded away the sketch. "I'm not-"

"Hey Tony!" yelled the boy. "He already drew a picture of you. You wanna see?"

"Hell yeah I do!" said Tony, almost jumping up from his spot in the sand. He raced over to Steve's bench as if Steve had fresh baked cookies and a glass of warm milk.

"How did you draw me honey muffin?" he asked, squatting down on the open bench next to him with a big smile spread across his face.

Steve was taken aback by Tony's forwardness. He wasn't opposed. Far from it. But saying those things out here in public, near other people? Steve tried to think of something to say. Something clean, but with clear boundaries aligned with public values and constitutions. But all that came out was, "Good. It looks good."

"Show me?" asked Tony, already reaching for the sketch.

"No!" Steve swiftly pulled the drawing out of reach. "It's private. My practice pieces are always private."

"Oh come on," wined Tony. "I'll show you mind if you show me yours."

"What?" The rush of hot blood to his face was immediate.

"The sketch," replied Tony as easily as if he were talking about the weather. "I was talking about the sketch. I was making one in the sand before those kids asked for my help."

"Oh." Steve looked down to try and hide his embarrassment. Even Steve would not deny that he heard disappointment in his voice.

Tony's smile got cheeky. "Why? Think I was talking about something else?" he asked, nudging Steve in the ribs.

"No!" But the red flush of his ears betrayed his sinful thoughts.

"Listen," Tony started. But he didn't finish.

Steve turned his head to give Tony his full attention, to be respectful and all that. As he did, Tony's hand flashed out and snagged the sketch from Steve's fingers.

"Give it back!" he protested, reaching out to get the paper back.

"No! I wanna see!" Tony held it over his head like a child. Even a head shorter than Steve, Tony was somehow able to keep the newsprint out of reach.

"It's just a sketch. It's not even that good," Steve tried in vain to reach the paper.

"Let be me the judge of that." Steve halted his rescue attempt. "Please?"

Steve wanted to say no. He wanted to keep what he drew private. Tony had absolutely no reason to see his drawing, and Steve had every reason not to let Tony see the damn thing. Tony may be acting like a giant flirt around him, but there was no clear indication that Tony would even be okay with how Steve perceived their relationship. And his sketch clearly showed what he thought about their relationship.

But, for some reason, a small part of him wanted to share it. A small part of him wanted to hear what Tony thought. A small part of him wanted this more than anything in the world. With a sigh, Steve gave in. "Fine," he conceded, pulling back to his section of the bench. "Just don't make fun of me when you see it."

Tony grinned in victory, giving Steve a strange satisfaction in his chest. When he opened the folded paper, his mouth dropped. "This is amazing!" Tony's face glowed with wonder.

"It's really not," said Steve suddenly very conscious of how close together they were.

"Are you kidding? If I was into paintings I would absolutely hire you. You should have your own exhibit."

Steve shrugged, tying his best not to fall any deeper. "It would be much better if I had quality paper and a good model," he criticized.

"Steve, are you asking me to model for you? I'm flattered."

Steve smiled. He would like Tony to model for him. Tony would make a great model. If the callouses on his hand were anything to go by, Tony would probably have a few cuts and scars on his body. Those were always fun to draw. Steve would like drawing that.

He had to give Tony some grief though. It was Tony, not another eager body wanting to show off and get into his pants. It's not as if he was trying to flirt with Tony. Grief was a necessary part of the 'artist and model relationship'. Of course it was. "Models need to hold still for hours on end, and from what little I've seen of you, you're not too good at that part."

Tony smirked. "Got me there Rogers."

Steve shifted in his seat. "So," he said, changing the subject. "What is it you wanted to show me?"

"Huh?"

"You said if I showed you mine, you would show me yours," Steve replied, parroting the words.

Tony's mouth opened and closed like a fish for a few seconds. "I lied," he finally said. "There's nothing to see."

"Then what were you drawing in the dirt? You said there was something there, and I can clearly see some sort of outline from here."

"Nothing," Tony said sharply. "Just doodles and lines. Nothing as interesting as what you drew."

"We'll see," said Steve with a mischievous grin. "I showed you my doodle, it's only fair that I see yours," he said as he got up and walked over to the special patch of dirt.

"Wait! Steve I-"

A breath caught in his throat. "Oh Tony."

"I know it's-"

"This is… This is just… wow," Written across the dirt in small symbols looked like a display from a body. There were numbers, calculations. Short hand words scattered about the ground. Sketching of parts and pieces broken down and magnified. Details written in numerical code. To Steve, this wasn't just scribbles on the ground. This was a new form of art that he didn't understand. And it was pure genius in every captivating stroke.

"This is amazing Tony. What does it all say?"

"You have no idea what this stuff means, and yet you love it?"

Steve looked at Tony, his face downright confused at Steve's wonder. But there was something else. At that moment, Tony looked more than confused, he looked tired. He looked so tired and alone. Like the weight of the world was riding on his shoulders and he was about to pass out from the weight. On the exterior, Tony looked strong, ready to throw his swagger wherever he pleased. But on the inside, underneath all that, his soul was crying out for a moment's rest. How did Steve not notice before? The puffy bags under his eyes, the weariness in his shoulders. Steve's chest clenched. He understood the pressure all too well, and it hurt too much.

Steve smiled at Tony, trying to offer what little comfort he could. "Just because I can't understand it doesn't mean I'm blind to the meaning. I've worked with motorcycles in the past, so I can piece together some meaning. But Tony, I don't need to know anything to tell that you poured your heart and soul into this. It's not that hard to see. But I have no context for any of this. I want to know the context so I can better understand what you made here."

Steve felt the next few words hesitate on his tongue. Should he say it? He wanted to say it. It sounded so right. Could he? He couldn't rub his thumb against the back of Tony's hand to reassure him that all that was being said was true. But he wanted to. He wanted to so bad. Tony looked like he didn't believe anything Steve was saying. And Steve wanted him to believe. Even if it was only for a second. He wanted Tony to trust him. He wanted to touch, but he couldn't. Instead, he went with the words on his tongue. "I want to know what this is, so I can better understand you Tony."

Tony looked down and kicked at the dirt. "What if you don't like what you see?" he mumbled.

Steve's heart dropped. How many times had Tony been criticized for pouring his heart out? "Tony," his voice tried to reach out to where his hands couldn't. "I don't think anyone who could make something like this could have something I wouldn't like to see."

Tony offered a small smile. "It ain't much," admitted Tony, pushing his shoulders back. Steve felt a glow begin in his stomach as Tony slowly regained his confidence. "Working in the dirt, you can only do so much." He pointed to a section near the center of the image.

"Here, this is the part I'm having problems with. Can't replace the power source to make room for the accessories. Can't make it any weaker either. But it keeps overheating if I don't." Tony took the time to describe each little section of the layout and the function of each part, hands flying all over the place like he was a mad scientist. The therms and technology went over Steve's head, but he didn't mind much. Hearing the excitement and calming tones in Tony's voice was a peace in Steve's crazy life. He could go asleep just listening to Tony talk. For a moment, it was nice to forget his own worries and focus on someone else.

"Don't you have some place where you can work this stuff out on your own?" asked Steve. "Someplace where you can tinker around?"

"My workshop," replied Tony with a complicated look. "But my new one is currently under construction right now, and the one at work has people that I'd rather not see." There was a story behind there, but Steve didn't push. "You should come and see it some time. Got all the latest toys. Can't promise anything, but should be a fun time."

Steve felt his chest flutter. "I'd like that."

As if remembering that Steve couldn't read his mind, Tony reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a business card. With a black pen, he quickly scrawled a set of numbers down. "Don't know if you'd ever need it, but the number is a direct line to me. If you ever come in person, just tell the front desk that you're looking for Tony. Only been working there for a little over a week, so I don't have my own business cards yet. Think it'll work okay? "

Steve just stared at the card. He read over the silver writing twice, and then a third and fourth time. Was it true? Where his eyes deceiving him.

"Steve?" Tony waved a hand in front of his eyes. "Kinda leaving me hanging here…"

Steve looked at him. Then back at the card. Then back at Tony. Steve's entire body was alight with energy. "This is amazing Tony! You got the job! And it's at Stark Industries." Steve was all smiles."That's amazing! Stark Industries is one of the best companies to work for!"

"Yeah?"

"Yeah! A lot of folks in Brooklyn have temp work or seasonal contracts with Stark Industries. And a lot of folks I know are looking for full time work at Stark Industries, but haven't gotten close to getting. But you actually got in. And you have your own business card!"

"Will have my own, not yet. And it's nothing, really. I'm just an engineer," said Tony, looking away from Steve. Wait a minute, was he embarrassed?

"We should celebrate." Steve was bursting with excitement. "I don't have much, but I have a bottle of something special I could open just of the occasion."

Tony tried to brush the entire thing off. "It's fine. Don't worry about it. It's really not a big deal."

"Yes, it is!" insisted Steve. "You have a business card. That means a permanent contract! Who else would celebrate with you? Pepper? Rhodey?"

Tony rubbed the back of his neck with a nervous hand. "Well-"

Steve's happiness level dropped. His sad puppy eyes Bucky always talked about were out for sure. "Don't tell me that they haven't done anything to congratulate you yet?"

Tony tried to shrug off puppy Steve's attention. "I'm telling you Steve, it's really not a big deal. Besides, they're busy with other stuff right now."

A dark pain began to grow in Steve's heart. It wasn't right. Tony shouldn't be by himself commemorating this event all alone. He should have company. Friends, family, anyone who gave a damn about Tony should be reveling in this opportunity. But Tony had no one. No a single person was around to congratulate Tony on his accomplishments.

Steve's heart clenched in anger. That settled it. Steve grabbed his arm and proceeded to drag Tony back to Steve's side of the river.

Tony tried to fight back. "Hey! Where are you taking me?"

"My place," ordered Steve. "We are going to celebrate your accomplishment like normal people and you are going to enjoy it."

"I hardly see us as normal people Rogers."

"Shut up Tony." Steve used his Captain voice. He whirled around to face Tony. "We are going across the river to my apartment, and we are having a drink. If you want to leave after that, you can. But there's no way I'm leaving you to celebrate alone, and I don't have the cash to go to a speakeasy." Desperation clung to his voice. This was something special, something that should be celebrated. Tony needed this. He needed this.

Steve tried pulling again, but the exhaustion was catching up to him. Energy was leaking out of him like a broken faucet. He could do this. He had the willpower to do this. But he was just too tired to fight anymore. He was too tired to be strong anymore. Too tired of taking charge. He was just too tired. He body went slack as he weakly tried to pull Tony to his side. His head lolled down as he stared at their hands.

"Just let me do this one thing for you," he begged, barely breathing. "I haven't had a lot of good news today."

They stood in silence as Steve tried to catch his breath. Tony had stopped pulling in objection. "Job didn't come through?"

Steve let out a tired laugh. "Something like that."

Tony looked over his shoulder as if he was looking for someone. "One drink," caved Tony.

Steve smiled. His grip on Tony's arm relaxed. Good. This was good. "That's all I'm asking for."

* * *

"I'll say one thing, it ain't the Crown Plaza."

Steve shrugged his shoulders. "Third floor out of four. Roof over our heads. Keeps the cold out better than a paper, and having a few roommates helps with the rent. Not all of us can have jobs at Stark Industries."

"Good point," said Tony with a smile. Steve ducked down into a cabinet to pull out the bottle the gang had opened up last night. They always tasted a bottle of the product before they shipped it out. Didn't mean they always finished off what they opened.

"You okay with just a mason jar? I don't have anything fancy," said Steve, pouring them each a glass of amber liquid.

"No," said Tony sarcastically. "It's illegal for alcohol to be consumed in anything less than a whisky glass."

"Well," said Steve with a smile as he passed Tony a glass. "Guess we'll be criminals together."

"I can see the charges now," said Tony with a smile. "Stark and Rogers, fugitives of the law for using the wrong type of drinking glass."

Steve quietly laughed at the quip as he raised his glass. "Cheers," he proposed. "To a new job and new opportunities."

"And many more for those who have none," said Tony with a smile before taking the drink.

Steve waited a moment before indulging in his. The first drink, it was his favorite part in making giggle juice

When Tony groaned in almost comical pleasure, Steve couldn't hold back the grin. "This is amazing," gushed Tony. "Where did you get it? Don't tell me you had to kill someone for it. Because I would be willing to kill someone for this.

Steve could only shrug. "I know a guy," he lied. He did know a guy, but Tony didn't need to know that Steve was that guy. Steve hated lying. But Tony didn't need to know about Steve's side job. It was better this way. He didn't need the fight between legal and illegal. Moral and amoral. Steve just needed to remember that Tony was, as far as the signs showed, a straight shooting guy that didn't need the scandal from seeing a guy that swung both ways.

"Well tell your guy to contact me when he gets the chance. This stuff is really good. You know, for locally made." Tony began wander around the apartment taking in his surroundings. "Now the Italians," he began to ramble. "They know how to make a good wine, and the Germans have a great rep with beer. You should see my collection sometime. Honestly, I'm more of a scotch person than anything, but this is still pretty good." Tony took another sip as he looked around the small room. "Something wrong with your heater?"

Steve forgot they had been using it as an expensive drying rack. "Broke down last fall. Never got around to having it fixed. Don't have the money."

"Let me see what I can do," said Tony, rolling up his sleeves.

"You don't have to-"

"Steve, it's fine. I'm in a tinkering mood right now. Gotta use my hands for something."

Despite Steve's sputtered words of protest, Tony sat himself down, made himself at home amongst the clutter, and started taking apart the heater, tuning out anything that wasn't related to the mechanical wiring.

Steve huffed at Tony's audacity. But he looked like he was enjoying himself. A marked improvement from what Steve saw in the park. Tony's fingers flew like city pigeons as they dismantled the heater piece by piece. His eyes were different than in the park. His brow was still furrowed, but Steve's keen eyes picked up the differences. In the park, the lines were deep and more pronounced, sign of frustration as he dug his ideas into the dirt. Now, they were tense with focused and deep thought. Tony's eyes were steady and bright as steel, as they darted across the different parts of the machine. He looked so perfect. He looked so right. This wasn't about appearances for the sake of potential courting. This was about seeing something beautiful being laid out in front of him like an orange in a Christmas stocking. Something precious and pure

Steve had to get it down.

After taking care of the glasses and the bottle, he fetched his sketch pad and pencils form his disorganized corner of the room. Grabbing a chair and one of the few flat surfaces open to act as a table, Steve began to sketch, but this time he dedicated more effort and care to each stroke. Rough sketches on fliers and literature were fine for practice, but art supplies were expensive and a luxury item compared to food and rent.

With careful strokes, he carved Tony into the paper. The strong length of his back. The slant of his shoulders. The soft curves of his arms. He noted the slow passing of the sun as it made the shadows longer and Tony's profile more pronounced. The 4:45 shadows were perfect for Tony's shape, and Steve deliberately went a little fast with the outline. He could always go back and fill it in later. He usually did. As long as he got the aura of his model, his drawings turned out to his liking. And at exactly 4:45, Tony's aura shone like a beacon in a moonless night.

He wouldn't say everything was perfect, but it seemed like at that moment Tony's personal walls finally came down. He looked so at peace with the world. Centered in his element. Steve secretly wished he could see Tony like that every day for the rest of his life.

"Damn that's hot."

Steve looked up from his drawing. "Did you say something Tony?"

Tony shook his head, hair fluffed up from hands frequently running through the dark follicles. A dark grease stain ran along his temple. "Nothing important. Just that starving artist is a good look for you."

"Um… thanks?"

"Fixed your heater," said Tony, wiping his hands on a white handkerchief. Was that silk? "If I had better tools and supplies, I could make significant improvements. But for now, it'll do what it's supposed to do, make hot or cold air. Boring. I'd love to modify it to see if I could make toast."

"Toast?"

"Yeah, toast. Or play records. Something like that."

Steve laughed. He could get used to this, if given the chance. The gentle banter, the moments of silence where nothing needed to be said, for those few seconds, Steve felt everything could be perfect. With his handkerchief in hand, Tony brushed the soft material over his own darkened cheek. "You... um… you got something on your face Steve."

"What?" Tony could have asked him what two plus two was and he still would have been too distracted to answer.

Tony motioned to his cheek again trying to mirror where the grim was. "Around here."

Steve rubbed his face as he tried to wipe the unseen smudge off. Tony let out a fustrated sigh.

"Let me do it," he said, dabbing a spot right below Steve's cheek bone "Don't you guys have mirrors here?"

"Uh huh, but it's cloudy."

"Why don't you clean it?"

"When was the last time you were at a bachelor's pad?"

"Couple hours ago," Tony said with a smirk. "My place isnt as bad as your though." He scooted closer to Steve to clean away the smudge.

A breath caught in Steve's throat. Tony was closer now than ever. Steve could only watch as Tony's pink tongue wet the snow white handkerchief. White cloth darkened to gray as the strong fingers held the damp cloth against his face. It didn't feel slimy and weird like when his mom did it. It was warm, and nice. The dilation of Tony's eyes as they floated across Steve's face. Tony's breath against his. Steve's chest migrated closer to Tony, as if pulled by an unknown magnetic force. God, it would be so easy. It wouldn't even take that much to lean a bit closer and-

"Toast!"

Steve paused. Lips parted and hesitant. "What?"

"I'm such an idiot! Why didn't I think of it earlier!"

Steve felt like the ground had fallen out from under him. His heart was beating a mile a minute. "Toast?" Steve was almost in hysterics. Granted, it was much more defined than the chaotic storm whirling around his mind.

"Yes!" said Tony enthusiastically. He looked like he was about to take off for the moon. "Well, not literally, but the idea is still the same. See-"

A bang on the door disrupted Steve's whirlwind of thoughts. In a daze, he got up and answered the door. Bucky's slowly bruising face quickly brought his focus back to the now.

"We have a problem," murmured Thor, adjusting Bucky over his shoulder using his good arm.

Bucky gave Steve a foolish grin. "We got a stake in the freezer I can borrow?


	6. Balancing His Debts

Tony's brain was running a thousand miles a minute. Devilish thoughts and ideas cascaded around his brain as warm dark arousal pooled in his gut. It was a familiar song and dance for Tony. Entice a man with a broken radiator and the next thing you know, you want to bend a blond over backwards and fuck an artist (and be fucked by said artist) six ways to Sunday. Normally, Tony would distract himself from such sinful thoughts by reciting all prime numbers up to eight digits, but today was turning out to be harder than most.

Not only was his heart keeping time with the rapid rhythm of his arc reactor, but his mouth was unnaturally dry and his lips were in great need to be wetted by something other than water. Steve wasn't making it easy. His heart-melting smile, those gorgeous blue eyes, the flawless way banter flowed between them. Steve wasn't making it any easier for Tony to deny his selfish desires.

Thank god for Steve's friends interrupting when they did. Tony's brain had sparked the idea for a toaster at the last salvageable second, yes, but he had gotten stuck in rambling mode as soon as he retracted from the embrace. And a whole lot of shit often came out on that mode. Like how while Steve carefully drew him, Tony fantasized Steve forcing him up against the wall and fucking him dry as Steve eye groped him between kisses with those sharp blue eyes. He would use those big, working hands to milk them both dry as Tony screamed and clawed his way through-

Dammit! No! Those were not the type of thoughts he should be having. He had a company to run. A reputation to uphold. He could not out himself as a fag at this critical juncture. Admiring a man in a well-tailored suit was fine. Those thoughts in private were fine. But Tony was seconds away from pressing his lips against Steve's just so he could feel the soft, plump, solid weight against his as it reached out with a tantalizing shine and he wrapped himself around- Nope! Not gonna happen!

"Hey." A strong hand on his shoulder disrupted his internal rambling.

"Hey." The words came out as breathless gasp. Tony took a gulp of air and tried to sound more put together. Like his heart wasn't keeping dangerous time with the rapid rotation of the arc reactor. "He going to be okay?"

"Yeah, just a black eye, thank god."

Tony looked over Steve's shoulder to see the guys who rudely interrupted them. There had been little time for introductions as the very well-built blonde one (who looked more like a god than an actual human) rushed off to fetch a steak and some ice. The injured party looked like a hobo off the streets rather than someone who could be considered Steve's friend, let alone the roommate Steve had brusquely introduced him as. Eyes like an assassin that one, and greasy mess of long brown bangs that flopped over his eyes. Tony would guess the guy's hair was normally slicked back and well kept, but the lack of appearance could be attributed to whomever gave him that shiner on his face (or whatever caused it.) Must have been a bad brawl considering the severe limp he came in with and the way each breath he took looked painful and labored. Seeing the anxiety on Steve's face made him feel nervous too. Tony tried to offer some form of advice to ease Steve's apprehension.

"I'm no doctor Steve," Tony said in a hushed tone. "But that it looks more than just a black eye."

"Tony." Steve pinched the bridge of his nose and scrunched up his face. Where had he heard that familiar tone before? Oh right, Pepper when she was exasperated with him. "It's fine. We'll deal with it."

Tony glared at him in disbelief. Scrapes, you could deal with on your own. Bruises, you could deal with on your own. Sprains, you could deal with on your own. Potentially broken bones were not something you dealt with on your own. You went to a doctor, or some type of professional to deal with it for you. Steve wasn't a professional. Tony tried to push a little more. Because that's what friends do, right? "You know, I know a doctor who can help out if you really need-"

"No, Tony," Steve interruption was curt . His face was pinched in all the wrong places, like he wanted to shove Tony out the door and flat out on his ass. "It's fine. We have to take care if it ourselves. We don't have the money to afford a doctor."

Tony was offended, not that he had any ground to stand on with his own history escaping medical facilities. Tony wanted to say that money wasn't an issue. He could take care of everything and Bruce would probably waive any fee anyway when he found out 'grease monkey' here was a friend of Steve's. But he couldn't. It wasn't his place. He liked what he and Steve had right now and didn't want to mess it up by bringing money into the mix. Especially the amount of money he made. Money always made everything messy. And that last thing he wanted or needed right now was chaos in his private life.

"I should probably go now," he murmured.

The frustration in Steve's face fell away. "I didn't mean-" he stuttered. "I don't want to push you-"

But Tony understood. A friend got hurt. Tony would do the same if he was in Steve's position. Acting overprotective about the littlest thing. Hell, he did that and more after the attack in Boston. Tony waved it off. "No, it's okay. Just got an idea for some stuff at work. We're square."

Relief crossed Steve's face. "Good. Hey, um…" He looked down and did that adorable feet shuffle Tony had seen the first day they met. "Feel free to stop by any time you want. I feel bad kicking you out like this." Steve's focus darted over to Beefcake McGoldilocks. The constant rubbing of his hands screamed worry and mother hen instinct. Tony could take a hint.

Tony offered Steve a reassuring smile. "No big deal. I'll see you around Steve." Tony patted Steve on the shoulder as he left. "Go play doctor. I can see myself out."

"Thanks," said Steve with a clearly pained smile.

Like the gentlemen he was, Tony quickly made his escape from the tense room, closing the door softly behind him. Never let it be said that Tony would stay someplace he wasn't wanted. He clopped down the three stories of wooden steps, silently scolding himself from even thinking that Steve would want him there in a time of need. From the stairs of the second floor, he noticed a familiar black car that some younger immigrant boys were gathered around. A few housewives were whispering speculation amongst themselves on the sidewalk as an inconspicuous shadow on the rooftop across the street darted out of sight.

Tony rolled his eyes. He looked around for anything suspicious before going up and tapping the window on the driver's side with his knuckle. "You guys spying on me now?" Tony asked the window.

The window rolled down. "Pepper asked me to keep an eye on you."

The kids scampered away from the car and the women suddenly found the brick structures fascinating. Tony whistled in frustration. "Doesn't trust me, huh? Has to send two of my best to tail my ass because I'm that unreliable."

Happy shrugged. "You do have a history of making very bad choices when left to your own devices. And we do have a very recent hit to be concerned about."

"Concern yourself no more my friend," said Tony as he got in the car. "I came up with a plan while gallivanting across the rooftops, waiting for my knight in shining armor to save me."

Happy rolled his eyes. "What's the idea boss?"

"Well, it involves toast..."

* * *

"Are these my new threads?" asked Rhodey, running his fingers against the cool silver metal.

Tony didn't look up from the magnifying glass as he wired a disarray of coils together. "Wouldn't be mine or Pep's. You're the one that wanted the extra heat."

"What can I say? I like things that go boom," replied Rhodey, admiring his reflection in the metal.

"It's not ready yet. Still need to solve the overheating and power regulating problems," Tony motioned to the disarray of unlabeled blueprints and schematics.

"You sure these things are going to be safe? Doesn't look safe." Rhodey asked, examining a print. Only half of the engine-like piece was present on the paper. There were holes and pieces missing in the design, enough that if constructed by itself, it would explode when activated.

"That's because you're not looking at the whole picture," grumbled Tony, pushing the print in Rhodey's hands against two other sheets of parchment paper, filling in the blanks and making the device perfectly safe. "Don't you have any faith in me Rhodes? They're modeled after mine, so you have nothing to worry about. Yours and Pep's just happen to be a little more tricky because you don't have a power source in your chest."

"Yeah, I'll say no to that surgery."

"Why not? Being a living night light has its perks," said Tony with a snarky smirk.

Rhodey snorted in amusement. "I'm sure it does."

The door to the lab slammed open and a very angry Pepper Pots stormed into the room. She shoved a bolded headline into Tony's face.

"What is this?" demanded Pepper, equipped with a newspaper and a clipboard of important papers.

"Black and white and read all over?" Tony joked, not bothering to look up from the magnifying glass. "I don't know Pep, but I'll get back to you after I finish the wiring here."

Pepper wasn't impressed. "Don't be coy with me Tony. This is your work, isn't it?"

Looked like there was no ignoring this. "And the prize goes to Pepper Pots ladies and gents!" he said, putting down his tools and spinning around in his chair. "Brilliant deduction as always. I don't understand why your sex doesn't get more credit."

"Tony! This is serious!"

"And so is a heart attack," he replied, enjoying the excuse to be a smartass.

The red shade of her face almost matched the color of her hair. "You put our picture on the front page!" she screamed, shaking the paper like a lone leaf in a strong autumn wind. And indeed they had. A dark burn mark in the shape of the Iron Man helmet demanded attention on the front page of the morning edition.

The plan was brilliant, and it was all thanks to Steve. Or, Steve's broken heater as was the case. It only took Tony a few hours to create the device before the plan was put into action. With a little help from Phil, God bless self-interest and capitalism, Clint was able to sneak into one of Hydra's better known hideouts under the guise of a heating repairman. Claiming to check on the local utilities for any broken parts, Clint had masterfully installed the device under Tony's orders and gotten the hell out of dodge. By itself, it was perfectly safe, but the next time Hydra turned on the heat, the entire heating unit would burst into flames leaving a large burn mark on the wall that looked like the Iron Man Helmet. Guess the next time turned out to be sooner than later.

"I didn't put our picture there. Peter Parker did," he said, pointing the credited name at the bottom of the picture. "I'll give him credit, he makes it look much nicer than I expected."

"Tony." Pepper pushed her fingers to her temple. There was that look for the second time today. Tony was on a roll.

"What?" he asked, playing clueless to her strife.

"I thought we agreed to keep it low profile. This picture. This mark! It all screams you!" she shook the morning rag at him.

"No, it screams Iron Family. See the helmet?" he corrected.

Pepper was having none of it. "Semantics," she said with a glare.

"Very important in business," Tony said with a smirk.

Her arms fell to the sides of her body in exasperation. "Tony."

"What?," he askes with an innocent smile. "It was Steve's idea."

"Steve?" Rhodey raised a questioning eyebrow.

"Which reminds me," Tony jumped flawlessly on the tangent. "I should get a present for him. I haven't had such a good plan for a hit in a long time."

"Tony, who is Steve?" demanded Pepper.

"A friend."

"A friend?" Rhodey sat back in his chair.

"Local friend," he quickely fibbed.

"And does he know about…" Rhodey waved a hand around to all the stuff in the lab, but Tony knew he meant much more that what could immediately be seen.

Tony scoffed. "You doubt my intelligence."

"Only when it's necessary," Pepper said in a curt tone.

"Pep, I'm not going up to a civilian and saying 'Nice to meet you. I'm Iron Man. Thanks for inspiring me to decimate my enemies. Wanna be friends?' It just wouldn't fly."

"And this hit does?"

"Look at the big picture Pep."

"I am, Tony," she said, eying the paper.

"Our name is out there now. All of New York knows what we can do. Who's going to mess with us now? Pepper, you're always talking about branding and my actions representing my work and the company. Think of it that way. I just branded us a force to be reckoned with."

She crossed her arms, but the fire was gone from her eyes. Tony counted that as a win. "I don't like it."

"So you've stated multiple times."

"I hope you know what you're doing."

"Don't I always?"

Pepper averted her eyes to a clipboard of papers. "I won't even dignify that with an answer."

"Great!" Tony clapped his hands in excitement. He had so much planned for today. Plans to make, Steve people to impress, people to destroy. "So, lunch-"

"Lunch meeting with Oscorp ," interrupted Pepper. Oh right. He had forgotten about that, for the sole reason that Norman Osborn gave him the willies. Tony tried again. "Lunch meeting, then off to buy-"

"I'll be going out to buy those modified suits you ordered special from the Van Dyne's while you have a meeting with General Ross and Captain Blonsky," Pepper reported from the schedule on her clipboard.

"No Pep," Tony whined. "They give me the creeps. Even worse than Osborn. Can't I just blow it off all like I normally do?

"You were gone all afternoon yesterday! I was about to send out a search party."

"And you have no idea how grateful I am that you didn't."

"And then Happy tracks you down in a Brooklyn dump-"

"Not a dump, Pep. Poorly funded neighborhood."

"Fumbling like a drunken fool. And then you have to nerve to barricade yourself into your lab, leaving me and Obie to deal with the falling out."

"Which you always handle so nicely by the way."

"Tony! It was a contract with the British marines!"

"And they'll be back another day," Tony tried to brush it all off. "Who else would they go to? Hammer? His quality is shit and they know it."

Pepper groaned in response.

"Oh come on Pep. You know I'm right."

"Just because you are, doesn't make everything you did worth it," she reluctantly conceded.

Tony couldn't help the smile sneaking onto his face. Even if he could contain it, he hadn't a reason to care. "I'll say it was worth it."

Rhodey cocked an eyebrow. "Tony," his tone was cautious. "What did you do?"

"Nothin'," he confessed. It was technically true. Steve did all the heavy lifting. He poured the drink. He drew the sketch. His eyes were the ones that raced all over Tony's body igniting an ember in the bellows of his stomach.

"I know that look, Tony."

"What look?" asked Tony. He didn't have a look. Did he? Of course he didn't. That was impossible. Was it? He was thinking about Steve, not some pretty dame on his arm. That was the look Rhodey was talking about, right? Thinking about pretty dames, wasn't on his radar. Besides, Steve would be much better than any random dame. Dressed to the nines in a well fitted tux, blue eyes shining like sapphires from the flashing photographers.

"That look!" Rhodey pointed to his face. "That stupid happy look like you're a dog in front of a butcher shop drooling over the cold cuts."

Tony was taken aback. "I don't have that look. Do I Pep?"

Pepper gave an ambivalent shrug. "You have been a bit spacy since you came back."

"And what's that supposed to mean?"

"You've got someone on your mind Tones. Someone special."

"You're special," he shot back.

Rhodey shook his head. "Not that kind of special."

"If I were you, I would be hurt," Tony replied with an exaggerated pout. "How would I have time for anyone special? I've spent almost all my time in New York working."

"You went on a walk," said Pepper.

"And I met my 'someone special' on my walk? That makes absolutely no sense, Pep. How could someone I've only just met become a 'someone special'?"

"Believe or not," said Rhodey. "We know who you really are. And no matter how much you play up the playboy image, you've always been the one gal type of guy. Doesn't take much for you to fall head over heels, Tones. They're few and far between, but when you fall, man, you go all the way."

Tony tried to come up with some excuse. Something to tell them that they were crazy or just letting their imaginations run wild in his absence. But he couldn't. Tony couldn't say it because some small part of him knew it was true. Some small part of him wished beyond a doubt that it was true. "We're not like that," he murmured quietly

But would he want to be? They had only spent a little time together, but it would be easy for Tony to imagine. Laughing over a meal. Steve sketching while Tony tinkered on his work in the lab. Maybe Tony could rent out a theater and they could watch movies together. Oh, who was he kidding, Tony could build them a movie theater and they could watch movies snuggled against each other on the couch. No other people. No other judgments. Maybe get some high quality wine imported from Italy. The kind with lots of zeroes on the price tag. That would be the life.

Pepper shrugged. "Well, whoever she is, I hope she knows what she's getting into."

That made Tony pause. He wasn't mad at Pepper for implying that Steve was a fool. Tony could be mad, but it made him think. He wanted to say something in response, but he couldn't. He wanted to say "I hope so too," but the worlds on the tip of his tongue refused to come out. Was he really that much of a fool? Would Steve be okay with Tony? All of Tony? Millionaire mob boss and all? Could Steve be okay with all that? Could he? Being around Tony, the real Tony all the time? Not to mention Tony was a man. There wasn't anything remotely feminine about Tony's physique. Steve wouldn't be confused about that. Even if Tony shaved his goatee off, which would be akin to death for him, would Steve be willing to look past sex to give Tony the time of day?

Tony shook the tempting thoughts out of his head. Wouldn't matter anyway. After he repaid Steve and said his goodbyes, none of this would matter.

He had decided it after their drink. After their almost kiss. Being with Steve, being close to Tony, it was too dangerous. It was too dangerous for business, and it was too dangerous for Steve. Pepper, Rhodey, Happy, Jarvis, Clint, and Bruce, they all knew what they signed up for when they joined him. But Steve, he was innocent. And he would have no choice but to become guilty if he and Tony became, well, more. Tony couldn't let that happen to Steve, he wouldn't let that happen to Steve. Having a couple sips of prohibition, that was one thing. Associating with an active mob boss as he terrorized the New York underground and fit men for their pine box overcoat, that was something else entirely. It would be in his best interest to keep him at a distance. And that meant no more visits. Just a "goodbye" for closure and that would be it.

"What are we talking about?" asked Bruce as he walked into the lab.

"Nothing," responded Tony grateful for the distraction. "Just speculations about my romantic life."

"Oh," Bruce whipped his knuckles on a once green handkerchief that had since been stained red. "I thought we were talking about something important."

"This is important," said Rhodey. His eyes and voice said this discussion wasn't over yet.

Tony rolled his eyes. As far as he was concerned, the discussion never happened and would never be brought up again. "What you got for me Brucie bear?"

Bruce sighed. "Not much we didn't already know," he said, plopping down in one of the seats. "Hit on the shop was coordinated by someone in Hydra, but the guy you brought me ain't spilling on who."

"He's wearing an expensive suit, not slacks and suspenders." Rhodey drummed his fingers against crossed arms. "Means he shouldn't be getting his orders through the grapevine like some low level goon."

"And yet he can't tell me who's on top giving orders," retorted Bruce. "Said something about Zola being the messenger, but he's confused as to who would send the message."

"You would think gang members would know who's linked with who, but no, we just had to get the special one," mocked Tony.

"Someone must be messing with the top brass. Alliances tend to shift with power changes,"considered Rhodey.

Bruce shrugged. "Don't matter to us. We're not going to get much out of him until he recovers."

Tony raised a questioning eyebrow. He didn't think the interrogation would get that rough. "Hulk get to him?" he asked.

Within the ranks of the top brass, they called him Bruce. To everyone else, he was the Hulk. Not that Bruce was a hulking of a man. He hid his face behind large, thick glasses and an unkempt fro of curly hair. The slump of his shoulders around strangers usually made people think he was cowardly or weak. But give the man surgery tools, bad guys better beware. Tony had once seen Bruce down five grunts in the slums of Boston using only a surgery knife, and that was before he agreed to join the Iron Family. After seeing such a beautiful display of knife work, Tony knew he had to have him.

Bruce's doctor steady hands were great at making painful yet non-life-threatening cuts to questioned parties, and he was even better at making lethal cuts look accidental when they needed to leave a body for the coppers. But occasionally things got a little rough in their interrogation room (codenamed "The Dungeon") or on the streets. Whenever that happened the true Hulk would come out to play; fists, power, and merciless anger out in abundance. Bruce was deeply ashamed of his two faced personality, but Tony had been more than accepting of Bruce's personality quirks. To him, both sides held their own beautiful strength, and both were valuable players amongst his top brass. Tony had witnessed the strength to the true Hulk only a handful of times, and it was enough for him to respected Bruce's request to stay "under the radar".

Bruce shook his head. "The other guy was not happy with how I wanted to proceed with the interrogation. Ended up getting a little punch drunk," admitted Bruce.

"You think there's more to get out?" Rhodey leaned back against a workstation.

Bruce shrugged. "Besides potential info on the Boston attack, not really. Nothing of significant importance anyway. But it's always good to be prepared for anything. Maybe I can get some secrets about Hydra we can use in the future."

"Like what?" asked Rhodey.

"Locations might be good," voiced Pepper. All eyes turned to her. "I've been going through the papers; receipts, shipping documents, meeting notes, employee records, and I think I'm beginning to see a pattern."

"What kind of pattern Pep?"

"Well, for one thing, names. Lots of names."

"Takes a lotta people to run a company," said Rhodey.

"But not this many," Pepper flipped through her clipboard of papers as if to reassure herself that she was right. "There shouldn't be this many hands in the system. I don't know. Maybe I'm being paranoid, but too many things aren't adding up like they should. Lots of people authorizing things incorrectly or filling out papers they have no business with. Nothing that would set off alarms, but the sheer number is unnerving."

"Either way, their supply locations would be good to compare to any documents we have on record. See if anything our Hydra guest knows matches up to what we have on file. Think you can get that for me Bruce? Don't want to be knocking down the wrong doors. "

Bruce took an unsure breath, considering the possibilities. "I can certainly try. Don't know if our guest is privy to information like that."

"If you would, please. Anything helps."

Bruce gave an assuring nod. "Then I guessing better get him prepped. It's going to be a long day."

Just as Bruce was about to leave, Tony remembered something very important he wanted to ask about. "What does shortness of breath mean?"

Bruce turned around to face him, face warped in utter confusion as to how Tony got from point A to poing P. "Huh?"

Tony suddenly felt aware of the critical eyes watching him. "If someone came back from a fight, and they were having a hard time breathing, and were almost keeling over, what would you say it was?" he asked, trying his best to casually walk over.

Bruce rubbed under his eyeglasses. "Tony, I'm a radiologist. Not a medical doctor."

"Yeah, but in your professional 'doctoral' opinion?"

"I don't know," said Bruce with a shrug. "Punch to the diaphragm? Asthma? Shell shock? Cracked ribs? Punctured lung? You're going to need to be more specific than that."

"No blood."

"Well that narrows it down to some," Bruce spoke, utterly deadpan. "If it looked like breathing physically hurt, but he wasn't wheezing, I'd say a cracked rib or two."

"How would you go about fixing it?"

Bruce shrugged. "Set it and wrap it up? You really can't do much in the chest area without doing some serious damage to vital organs."

"And that's bad, right?"

Bruce forced out a frustrated breath, rubbing the skin under the pads of his glasses. "Tony, it would really help if I could see the guy."

"You can't." Bruce absolutely could not see 'grease monkey' without Steve knowing about it. And Steve absolutely could not know about this.

Bruce sighed. "Well then, tell them to take some painkillers and call me in the morning if it continues to hurt."

"You got it doc." Tony gave a salute to his hired muscle as he descended back down to the basement to continue his interrogation.

Pepper checked her watch. "Obie is supposed to come down to check on you sometime, something about telling you how the board meeting went."

Tony quickly turned his attention to his pet projects. None of that mattered right now. "If you see him, tell him I'm not home at the moment. Don't want to ruin the surprise. Diagrams and pictures on the wall might not give him the right idea. Iron Family stuff and all that."

Tony heard her mentally groan. "I'll see what I can do to keep him out of the shop. If you need me, I'll be buried up to my ears in paperwork. "

Tony smirked. "Thank you Peppermint."

As soon as the clacking of shoes disappeared, Rhodey shifted a critical eye to Tony. Tony tried to avoid it by rustling stuff around to create a busy façade, but Rhodey wasn't buying it for one second. "One of ours?" asked Rhodey.

"Friend of a friend." Tony turned his attention back to the wires. Why did this construction require so many connections? The next project he chose to work on, definitely less complicated. Something easy and simple with no wires. Maybe a sandwich.

Rhodey raised an eyebrow.

They sat there a few minutes, Rhodey giving Tony the accusatory eye and Tony pretending it didn't exist. Eventually, he got tired of the look. "What?" he asked, not bothering to look up from the wielding.

"Friend of your gal?"

"No," Tony said, trying to stop the conversation.

But, Rhodey was having none of it. He tried again. "Friend of Steve?"

Tony's fingers stopped moving. "Does it matter?" He tried to sound as emotionally removed as possible.

"What do you think Tones?", he asked, cocky assurance laced into every word.

Tony thought about it. "Doesn't matter," he muttered, sealing off the circuit. "It's about to become a non-issue anyway."

"Why? You breaking up with him?"

Tony threw down his tools in defeat. "What's the matter with you? No, I am not breaking up with him. We weren't together to begin with. I've known him less than two weeks and only seen him for a few hours during that time. There is no way we could be together.

Rhodey had a very satisfied look on his face. Like the cat that just caught the canary, he had it all figured out. "But you'd like that, wouldn't you."

Tony was not going to give him the time of day. "What in the world makes you say that?"

"Just saying, you're starting to show."

"Show what?" Tony asked in disgust, almost scared at what the answer could be.

Rhodey tapped his chest, right over the arc reactor would be.

Tony's body tensed in apprehension. "Screw you Rhodes. I try to be the mature adult for once in my life and you accuse me of carrying my heart on my sleeve?"

"To be fair, you do and you are in no way mature."

"I take offense to that."

"You avoid vegetables at all costs."

"Brussel sprouts are disgusting and you know it," Tony shot back.

"Tony," Rhodey put a stop on their tangent discussion. "I'm just worried about you. We all are. About a lot of things: Stark Industries, the Iron Family, but this is different, and new, and…" his eye darted back and forth searching for the correct words. Probably something that didn't sound like fag or fairy. "Are you sure he can accept you? All of you?" he asked quietly.

Tony shrugged in ambivalence and turned his back on the conversation. "Doesn't matter. I'm not going to see him after tonight."

This took Rhodey by surprise. "What?"

"It's a very simple concept Rhodey," Tony turned around once more to face his best friend. "I see him tonight, say goodbye, and move on with our lives. We focus on the mission, kill the sons of bitches that did this to me, and ride off into the sunset like the badasses we are. Look Rhodey, I'm trying to do what's good for the family. For once, I'm trying to be the responsible one. Can't you support me in that? I'll even throw in a smoking hot babe for you to fly into the sunset with. You okay with blonds?"

"Not the point Tones."

"A black girl then? I can manage that."

"Tony!"

"What?"

"You're avoiding again."

"Oh, you noticed! I thought I was doing it very well."

"Tony!" Rhodey stood up and yelled in a clear sign of aggression. Tony should have taken it all back, but he knew Rhodhy well enough to know his best friend wouldn't go through with acting out his rage. Despite all the signs present: clenches fists and teeth, tense shoulders, short breath, Rhodey wasn't going to win this fight and they both knew it. It wasn't even something worth fighting about.

It took Rhodey a few shallow breaths before he released his anger. He hadn't forgiven Tony for derailing him (far from it if past memories were anything to go by) but his posture relaxed enough for Tony to assume he would let the topic go for now. Rhodey ran a hand against the back of his neck. "Do you think this is right?" he asked in a soft voice. "All this. I know you don't go out of your way just for anybody."

"I know it is," replied Tony.

It had to be right. Balancing his debts. Saying his goodbyes. It sounded right in his head. So why didn't it feel right in his heart?


End file.
